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By ARTHUR CAYLEY, the Younger, Esq. 

Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 

Like rigid Cineinnatus nobly poor, 

A dauntless soul, erect, who smil'd on death. ihomsox. 


Vol. II. 




Printed by AIutidslt t Doig t and Steven son > Edinburgh » 

Cove' - 


Utopia 1 

History of King Richard III. 147 

Pocmata 259 




Voi. II. B 



I am almost ashamed, dearest Peter, of sending you this 
tract of the Utopian commonwealth, after a delay of nearly 
a year, when you no doubt expected it within six weeks. 
For you knew I was eased of the labour of invention on 
this occasion, and that I had no thought to bestow upon 
method, having only to repeat what you as well as myself 
heard Raphael relate. Neither, on this account, was there 
any occasion for eloquence, since his discourse could not 
be highly polished, being off-hand and from one less learn- 
ed in Latin than in Greek ; and my narrative, the nearer 
it approaches his ease and simplicity, the nearer will it re- 
semble the truth, my sole duty and care on this occasion. 

B 2 

1 confess, dear Peter, so much of the labour was thus 
taken from my hand, that little or nothing was left me ; 
though the invention and arrangement might have demand- 
ed from no mean or unlearned capacity some time as well 
as study. Had eloquence as well as truth been requisite* 
no time or study would have enabled me to accomplish it. 
But as it was, these difficulties being removed, my part was 
only to repeat what I had heard. 

Yet little of my time as this required, that little was 
long denied me by my other avocations. For Avhile, in 
pleading and attending, in judging or settling causes, in 
waiting upon some on business, on others from respect, the 
greater part of the day is spent on other men's affairs, 
the remainder must be devoted to my family at home : thus 
I can reserve no part to myself and study. I must chat 
with my wife and prattle with my children, and something 
I have to say to my servants. These things I reckon a part 
of a man's business, unless he will resolve to be a stranger 
at home. For with whomever nature, chance, or choice, 
hath engaged a man in any intercourse, he must endea- 
vour to make himself as acceptable to those about him as 
he can ; still preserving such a disposition, that he may not 
spoil them by excessive gentleness, or let his servants be- 
come his masters. 


Thus days, months, and years, slip away : what time 
then is left for writing ? And hitherto I have said nothing 
of those hours which must be devoted to sleep ; or of those 
to meals, on which many waste nearly as much time as in 
sleep, the consumer of almost half our life. Indeed all 
the time I can gain to myself, I steal from sleep and my 
meals ; and because it is little, I have made slow progress. 
Yet being something, I have at last got to the end of 
Utopia, which I now send you; and expect, after you have 
read it, that you will inform me, if you can remind me of 
any thing which has escaped ine. For though I should be 
happy had I as much invention and learning, as I know I 
have memory, and which makes me in general depend 
greatly upon it, yet do I not so entirely rely on my me- 
mory, as to think I can forget nothing. 

My lad, John Clement, hath made some observations 
which startle me. You know he was present with us, as I 
think he ought to be at every conversation which may 
be useful to him ; for I promise myself great things from 
his early progress in Greek and Roman learning. Accord- 
ing to my memory, the bridge over Anider at Amaurot 
was, by Raphael's account, 500 paces ; but John as- 
sures me he said 300, therefore, pray recollect what you 
can of this. For, if you agree with him, I will believe 


that I have been mistaken ; but if you remember nothing 
of it, I shall not alter what I have written, because it is 
according to my recollection. I shall take care that there 
be nothing falsely written, and if there be any thing doubt- 
ful, though I may perhaps tell a lie, I will not make one ; 
for I had rather pass for a good than a wise man. But 
it will be easy to correct this mistake, if you can either meet 
with Raphael, or know how to address him by letter. 

Another difficulty presses me still more, and makes your 
writing to him more necessary. I know not whether to 
blame Raphael, you, or myself for it ; since we neither 
thought of asking him, nor he of telling us — in what part 
of the new world Utopia is situate. This was such an omis- 
sion that I would gladly redeem it at any rate ; for I am 
ashamed, after having told so much of this island, that I 
cannot inform my readers in what sea it lies. 

There are some among us who have a strong desire to go 
thither. A pious divine, in particular, is very earnest in 
it, not so much from a vain curiosity of seeing unknown 
countries, as that he may advance our religion, so happily 
begun, to be planted there. And that he may proceed with 
regularity in this, he intends to procure a mission from the 
Pope, and be sent thither as their bishop. In a case like 

this, he makes no scruple of aspiring to that character ; 
but thinks such ambition meritorious, being solely instigat- 
ed by pious zeal. He desireth it only as a mean of ad- 
vancing the Christian religion, and not for any honour or ad- 
vantage which may accrue to himself. 

I therefore earnestly beg, if you can possibly meet with 
Raphael, or know how to address him, that you will be 
pleased to inform yourself on these points ; that no false- 
hood may be left in my book, nor any important truth be 
wanting. And perhaps it will not be improper to let him 
see the book. For no man can correct its errors so well 
as he, and by perusing it, he will be able to give a more 
perfect judgment of it, than from any discourse about it. 
You will likewise be able to discover whether my under- 
taking be acceptable to him or not. For if he intend writ- 
ing a relation of his travels, perhaps he will not be pleased 
that I should anticipate him in what belongs to the Utopian 
Commonwealth ; since, in that case, his book will not sur- 
prise the world with the pleasure which this new discovery 
will give it. 

I am so little fond of appearing in print on this occasion, 
that if he dislike it, I will lay the piece aside ; and even 
though he should approve it, I am not determined on pub- 

lishing it. The tastes of men differ greatly^ Some are so 
morose and sour, and form such absurd judgments, that the 
cheerful and lively who indulge their genius, seem happier 
than those who waste their time and strength in authorship. 
Though their work may be useful or pleasant, instead of 
being well received, it will be laughed at or censured. Many 
have no learning, others despise it. One accustomed to 
a coarse, harsh style, thinks every thing disagreeable which 
is not barbarous. Our trifling pretenders to learning, think 
all slight which is not dressed in obsolete words. Some love 
only what is old, others only what is their own. 

Some are so sour that they can allow no jests, others so 
dull that they cannot bear any thing sharp ; some dread 
any thing gay and lively, as a man bitten by a mad dog 
dreadeth water; while others are so light and unsettled, that 
their thoughts change as fast as their postures. Some again, 
at their tavern meetings, take upon themselves in their 
cups, very freely to censure all writers, and supercilious- 
ly to condemn whatever they do not like. In this they 
have an advantage like a bald man, who can catch an- 
other by the hair without a fear of a return of the com- 
pliment ; being, as it were, war-proof, from their inca- 
pability of receiving an attack. Others are so thank- 
less, that even when well-pleased with a book, they 

think they owe the author nothing ; and resemble those 
rude guests, who, when they have been well entertained and 
their appetites glutted, depart without even thanking their 
host. Who would put himself to the charge of preparing 
a feast for palates so nice, tastes so varying, and guests so 
thankless ! 

But do you, dear Peter, clear those points with Raphael, 
and then it will be time enough to consider of publishing. 
For since I have been at the pains of writing the piece, if 
he consent to its publication, I shall follow the advice of 
my friends, and especially yours. Farewell, my dear Peter ; 
commend me kindly to your good wife, and continue to 
love me as you used to do, for be assured I love you more 
aad more daily. 

Vol. II. 



JLJLenky VIII, the redoubted king of England, a prince 
endowed with all the virtues becoming a great monarch, 
having some important disputes with Charles, prince of 
Castile, sent me ambassador to Flanders to treat of and 
compose these matters. I was associated with and accom- 
panied the incomparable Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the king, 
to such general satisfaction, lately made master of the 
rolls. Of him I will say nothing. Not for fear the testi- 
mony of a friend should be suspected, but because his 
learning and virtue are greater than I can do justice to, and 
30 well known that they need not my commendation, un~ 
less, according to the proverb, I would shew the sun with a, 

Those appointed by the prince to treat with us, met us- 
at Brages by agreement. They were all worthy men. The 

C 3 


margrave of Bruges was their chief, and the principal man 
among them ; but George T-emse, provost of Casselsee, was 
esteemed the wisest, and spoke for the rest. Art and na- 
ture had combined to make this man eloquent. He was 
very learned in the law, had a great capacity, and by long 
practice was become very dexterous at unravelling intrica- 
cies. When we had had several meetings without coming 
to an agreement, they Hvent to Brussels for some days, to 
know their prince's pleasure; and I, since our business per- 
mitted it, went to Antwerp. 

While there, among many who visited me, one person 
was more agreeable to me than any other. It was iEgi- 
dius, born at Antwerp, a man of great honour, and of 
good rank in his native cit}', though of less than he de- 
serves, for I know not where to find a more learned and a 
better bred youth. Worthy and intelligent, he is so civil 
to all, so kind to his friends, and so full of candour and 
affection, that you will very rarely meet with so perfect a 
friend. He is extraordinarily modest, without artifice, but 
full of prudent simplicity. His conversation was so pleas- 
ant and innocently cheerful, that his company greatly 
lessened the desire of returning to my country and family, 
which an absence of four months had occasioned. 

One day, as I was returning from mass, I chanced to see 
him talking to a stranger, who seemed past the flower of 
Lis age. His face was tanned, his beard long, and his 
i loak hanging carelessly about him ; so that from his ap- 


p^arance I concluded he was a seaman. When "Peter saw 
me, lie came and saluted me ; and as I was returning his 
civility, he took me aside, and pointing to his companion, 
said, ' do } r ou see that man ? I was just thinking of bring- 
ing him to you.' ' lie should have been very welcome (I 
answered) on } r our account.' ' And on his own too (he 
replied) if you knew the man. For no one alive can give 
a more copious account of unknown countries, which I know 
you love.' ' Then (said I) I did not guess amiss, for I took 
him for a seaman.' ' But you are much mistaken (he said), 
for he hath been no Palinurus, but another Ulysses, or ra- 
ther a Plato/ 

4 This Raphael, whose family name is Hythloday, is no't 
ignorant of Latin, but is eminently skilled in the Greek ; 
having applied himself more particularly to the latter, be- 
cause he had devoted himself to philosophy, in which he 
knew the Romans have left us nothing; valuable but what 
is to be found in Seneca and Cicero. He is a Portuguese 
by birth, and was so desirous of seeing the world, that he 
divided his estate among his brothers, and shared the ha- 
zards of Americus Vesputius, in three of his four voyages, 
now published. He did not return in the last, but obtain- 
ed his leave almost by force, to be one of the twenty-four 
who were left at the farthest place at which they touched in 
their last voyage to New Castile. 

* Leaving him thus, did not a little gratify one who was 
fonder of travelling, than of returning to be buried in his 


own country. For he would often say, the w&y to heaven 
is the same from all places, and zcho hath no grave hath 
heaven still over him. Yet this disposition hud cost him 
dear, had not God been very gracious to him. After he 
had travelled, with five Castilians, over many countries, at 
last, by strange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and thence 
to Calicut, where he very fortunately found some Portu- 
guese ships, and, beyond all expectation, returned to liis 

I thanked Peter for his kindness, in intending to bring 
me acquainted with one whose conversation he knew would 
be so agreeable to me, and on this- Raphael and I embraced* 
After the usual civilities, we all went to my house, and en- 
tering the garden, seated ourselves on a green bank and en- 
tertained each other in discourse. 

He told us, when Vesputius had sailed, he and his com- 
panions who staid in New Castile, by degrees insinuated 
themselves into the affections of the natives, meeting them' 
often, and treating them kindly. At last they not only lived 
among them without danger, but held familiar intercourse 
with them ; and so far obtained the friendship of a prince 
(whose name and country I have forgotten) that he furnish- 
ed them plentifully with all necessaries, and even with the 
conveniencies of travelling — boats and waggons. He gave 
them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and re- 
commend them to such other princes as they had a mind 
to see ; and after travelling many days, they came to towns, 

• UTOPIA. 15 

^cities, and commonwealths, which were both happily go- 
verned and well peopled. 

About the -equator, as far on either side as the sun go- 
cth, lay vast deserts, parched by his perpetual heat. The 
soil was withered; every thing looked dismal; all places 
were uninhabited or abounded in wild beasts and serpents, 
with a few men neither less wild nor less cruel than the 
beasts. But as they proceeded, a new scene presented it- 
self. Nature wore a milder aspect, the air was less burn- 
ing, the soil more verdant, and even the beasts less wild. 
At last they found nations, towns, and cities, which had 
not only mutual and neighbourly intercourse, but traded by 
■sea and land to very remote countries. 

The first vessels they saw were flat-bottomed, with sails 
of reeds and wicker woven closely together, and some of 
leather. Afterward they met with ships having round keels 
and canvas sails, like our own, and the seamen understood 
astronomy and navigation. He obtained their favour great- 
ly by shewing them the needle, with which, till then, they 
were unacquainted. Formerly they sailed with extreme 
caution, and only in summer. Now they esteem all sea- 
sons alike, and trust wholly to the loadstone, in which plan 
there is perhaps more imaginary security than real safety ; 
and this discovery, promising so much advantage, may, by 
their imprudence, become a source of great mischief to 


But it were tedious to repeat all his observations ; and 
what he repeated concerning the wise and prudent institu- 
tions of civilized nations, may perhaps be related on a more 
proper occasion. We asked him many questions on these 
subjects, to which he replied very willingly ; but we made 
no inquiries about ?nonsters, the common subject. For 
everywhere we may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves, and 
cruel cannibals ; but it is not so easy to meet with states 
which are well and wisely governed. 

Telling us of many defects in those new countries, he 
also recounted not a few circumstances which might serve 
as examples, and enable us to correct errors in our own 
countries. Of these, as before said, I may give an account 
at some future time. At present, it is my design only to 
relate what he told us of the laws and manners of the Uto- 
pians. But let me begin with the occasion which led us ta> 
speak of that commonwealth. 

"When Raphael had discoursed for some time, with great 
judgment, on the many defects in our own and these coun- 
tries, had treated of the civil institutions here as well as 
there, and had spoken as distinctly of the government and 
customs of every country he had passed through, as if he 
had lived in it all his life, Peter exclaimed in admiration*, 
' I wonder Raphael you do not enter into some king's ser- 
vice ; you would be very acceptable I am sure to any. 
Your knowledge of men and things is such, that you could 
not only entertain, but be of great advantage to them,, 


from the examples you could set before, and the advice 
you could give, them. And this would be to your own ad- 
vantage, as well as enable you to serve your friends/ 

' For my friends/ he replied, ' I need not feel much con- 
cern, having already done for them all that was incum- 
bent on me. For in my days of health, freshness, and 
youth, I distributed among my kindred and friends, that 
with which others part not till they be old and infirm : 
then unwillingly giving away what they can no longer en- 
joy. My friends, therefore, ought to rest content, and 
not expect me for their sakes to enslave myself to any 

4 Softly/ said Peter, ' I mean not that you should be a 
slave to any king, but that you should assist and be use- 
ful to one/ 

* That is, be if possible more than a slave/ he replied. 

' Term it as you will/ said Peter, ' I see, no other way 
in which you can be so useful to your friends and the 
public, and by which you can make your own condition 

* Happier!' replied Raphael. ' Is that to be compassed 
in a way so abhorrent to my genius ? At present I live as 
I please, to which I believe few courtiers can pretend, 

Vol. II. D 


And there be so many who court the favour of the great, 
that it will be no loss if they be not troubled by me, or 
those of a temper like mine.' 

Here, I said, ' I perceive Raphael you neither desire 
wealth nor greatness ; and indeed I value such a person 
more than any who are called the great. Yet I think 
you would act in a manner worthy of so generous and 
philosophical a spirit as yours, if you applied yourself to 
public affairs, though it might be a little unpleasant to 
you. This you could never do so effectually as by enter- 
ing into the council of some great prince, and putting him 
(as I know you would do) upon noble and worthy actions; 
for good and evil flow from a prince over his country as 
water from a fountain. Your learning without experience, 
or the experience you have had, without learning, would 
render you a very proper counsellor for any prince/ 

' You are mistaken,' he replied, ' as well in your judgment 
of me as of the matter in question ; for neither have I the 
talents you imagine, nor, had I them, would the public 
be one jot the better when I had sacrificed my quiet to 
it. Most princes think more of military affairs than of the 
useful arts of peace ; and in these I neither have, nor de- 
sire to have, knowledge. They are generally more intent 
on acquiring new kingdoms, than on ably governing those 
which they possess. Of their ministers, all either are, or 
think themselves, too wise to need assistance ; and if they 
court any, it is only those to whom their prince shew- 


eth personal favour, that they may fix them in their in- 
terests. Indeed, nature hath so constituted us, that we 
all love flattery, and to please ourselves with our own 
conceits : the very crow loveth her young, and the ape her 

' If in a court like this, where each envies his neighbour, 
and admires only himself, one should propose what he had 
read or seen, the rest would think their reputation and 
interest at stake if they could not run it down. If they 
had nothing else to allege, they would say, such things 
pleased our ancestors, and it were well for us were we bat 
their equals. They would deem this a sufficient confuta- 
tion of all that could be urged, as if it were a misfortune 
that any should be wiser than their fathers ; and admitting 
all that was good in former agCs, if aught better were 
proposed, they would shield themselves under this plea of 
reverence to past times. I have frequently met with this 
proud, morose, and absurd judgment, especially once in. 

' Was you ever in England ?' cried I. 

« I was/ he answered, ' and staid some months. It was 
not long after the suppression of the rebellion in the west, 
with that great slaughter of the poor who were engaged 
in it. I was then much obliged to that reverend prelate, 
John Morton, archbishop of Canterbury, cardinal arid chan- 
cellor of England ; a man, dear Peter (for Mr. More knew. 

D 2 


liini well) whose wisdom and virtue commanded no less 
respect than Iris station. He was of the middle stature, 
and not yet broken by age ; his looks begat reverence 
rather than fear ; his conversation was easy but grave. 
He sometimes took delight in trying those who came to 
him upon business, by speaking sharply to them, though 
with decency ; and was much pleased when he discovered 
spirit and presence of mind without rising to impudence, 
for this resembled his own temper, and he judged it the 
fittest for business. He spoke with grace and weight, was 
eminently skilled in law, had a vast understanding, an 
extraordinary memory ; and these rich gifts of nature were 
improved by study and experience. When I was in Eng- 
land, the king depended much on his counsel, and the 
government seemed to be chiefly supported by him ; for 
he had been trained in business from his youth, and hav- 
ing experienced many vicissitudes of fortune, he had ac- 
quired wisdom at no small cost ; and she is best retained 
when dearly purchased. 

' One day when I was dining with him, an English lawyer, 
who happened to be at table, ran out in high commenda- 
tion of the severity exercised against thieves, who, he said, 
were then hanged so fast, that there were sometimes twenty 
on one gibbet ; adding, he could not enough wonder, since 
so few escaped, that there were yet so many who were 
stealing everywhere. 

1 Here I, who took the liberty of speaking freely before 


the cardinal, observed, that there was no reason to wonder 
at the matter, since this mode of punishment was neither 
just in itself, nor beneficial to the public. The severity 
of it is too great, and the remedy ineffectual ; simple 
theft not being so great a crime that it ought to cost life, 
and no punishment, however severe, being able to keep 
those from robbing who can find no other means of liveli- 
hood. ' In this,' I added, ' not only you English, but a great 
' part of the world, imitate bad masters, who are readier to 
' chastise their scholars than to teach them. Dreadful pu- 
' nishments are inflicted on thieves ; but it were better to 
' make good provisions that all might know how to gain a 
' livelihood, and be preserved from the necessity of stealing 
' and of dying for it/ 

' Care enough hath been taken of that/ said he. ' There 
be many handicrafts, and there is husbandry. By these 
they may live, unless they have a greater inclination to 
follow bad courses/ 

' That will not serve your turn/ I replied. ' Many lose 
their limbs in civil or foreign wars, as lately in the Cor- 
nish rebellion, and some time ago in your wars with France. 
Thus mutilated in the service of their country, they can 
no longer follow their old trades, and are too old to learn 
new ones. But since wars are only accidental, and have 
intervals, let us consider the occurrences of every day. 

; Your numerous nobility are themselves as idle as drones, 


subsisting by the labour of their tenants, whom they op- 
press to extremity to raise their revenues. This indeed is 
the only instance of their frugality, for in all else they are 
prodigal even to their own ruin. They have about them 
a number of idle fellows, Avho never learned any art by 
which they might gain their living. These, as soon as their 
lord dies, or themselves fall sick, are turned out of doors; 
for lords are readier to feed the idle than to relieve the 
sick, and the heir is frequently unable to keep together so 
large an establishment as did his predecessor. 

' Now when the stomachs of those who are thus turned 
out of doors grow keen, they rob keenly ; and what else 
can they do ? When, wandering about, they have worn 
out their clothes and their health, ghastly and ragged, men 
of quality will not, and the poor dare not maintain them. 
For one bred in idleness and pleasure, is unfit for the spade 
and mattock, and will not serve for the wages and diet of 
the poor/ 

' Such men should be particularly cherished/ he replied,, 
lor they are the main strength of the armies for which we 
have occasion. Their birth inspireth them with a higher 
sense of honour than is to be found in tradesmen and 

' You might as well say,' replied I, ' that you must cherish 
thieves on account of wars, for you will never want the 
one while you have the other ; and as robbers sometimes 


prove gallant soldiers, so soldiers often prove brave rob- 

* But this bad custom, so common among you, of keep 
ing many servants, is not peculiar to this country. France 
liath yet a more pestiferous crew, for she is full of soldiers, 
still kept up iu time of peace, if such a state can be call- 
ed peace. And these are kept in pay on the same plea 
which you urge for those idle retainers about noblemen ; it 
being a maxim of those pretended statesmen, that it is ne- 
cessary for the public safety to hold a good body, espe- 
cially veterans, ever in readiness. They think raw men not 
to be depended upon, and sometimes seek occasions for war 
to train them in the art of throat-cutting, or, as Sallust 
saith, to keep their hands in use, that they may not grow 
dull by intermission. 

1 But France hath learned to her cost, how dangerous it 
is to feed such animals. Rome, Carthage, Syria, and many 
more, ruined and overthrown by standing armies, should 
be a lesson to others. And the folly of this maxim of the 
French appeareth even from this; their trained soldiers often 
find your raw men then masters, on which I will not enlarge, 
lest you think I flatter the English. 

i Every day's experience sheweth, that mechanics and 
husbandmen, if they be not disabled or dispirited by ex- 
treme want, are not afraid of contending with those idle 
fellows. Thus you need not apprehend, that those well- 

- . ■ ■ ■ 


shapen, strong men (whom alone the nobility love to hire) 
at present enfeebled by their modes of life, would be less 
fit for exertion were they properly bred and employed. 
And it seemeth very unreasonable, that for the prospect 
of a war, you should maintain so many idle fellows as to 
disturb you during peace, a time much more worthy of 

' But I think not that this necessity for stealing ariseth 
hence only ; there is yet another cause of it more peculiar 
to England.' 

' What is that ?' said the cardinal. 

* The increase of pasture,' replied I; ' by which your sheep, 
naturally mild and tractable, may now be said to devour 
men, and unpeople towns and villages. Wherever the sheep 
of any soil yield a softer and richer wool, there the nobility, 
gentry, and even those holy men the abbots, not content 
with their old rents, nor thinking it sufficient that, living in 
indolence, they do no good to the public, resolve on the 
contrary to hann it, They stop agriculture, destroy houses 
and towns, reserving only the churches, and inclose grounds 
for their sheep. As if parks and forests had swallowed too 
little of the land, these worthies convert the places best in- 
habited into solitudes. 

' For when an insatiate wretch, the plague of his coun- 
try, resolves to inclose many thousand acres, landlords as 


Well as tenants are turned out of possession by tricks or 
main foree ; or wearied by ill usage they sell at last. Thus 
men and women, married and single, old and young, with 
their poor and numerous families (for fanning rcquireth 
many hands) are compelled to change their residence and 
know not whither to go. Their effects, little worth at best, 
they must sell for almost nothing. This little money is 
soon spent, and then what is left them but to steal and be 
hanged (God knoweth how justly) or to beg? If they do 
this, they are imprisoned as idle vagabonds, when they 
would gladly work, but can obtain no hire ; for when no 
tillage remaineth, there is no need for the labour they have 
been bred to. One shepherd can tend a flock, which will 
graze acres that would employ many hands, were they in 

' This likewise, in many places, raiseth the price of corn. 
And the price of wool is so risen, that the poor, who used 
to make cloth, are no longer able to buy it, which also 
lcaveth many of them idle. For, since the increase of pas- 
ture, the Almighty hath punished the avarice of the land 
occupiers, by a rot among the sheep, which hath destroyed 
vast numbers of them. To us it might have appeared more 
just, had it fallen on the occupiers themselves. 

' But should the sheep increase ever so much in number, 
their price will not fall. They are in so few and such 
powerful hands, that they will never be sold till the price 
is raised as high as possible. On the same account other 

Vol. II. E 

26 Hill T. MORE'S 

cattle are so dear. Many villages being destroyed and 
fanning neglected, none make it their business to breed 
them. The rich breed them not as they do sheep, but 
buy them lean at low prices, fatten them on their own 
grounds, and sell them at high rates. I do not believe 
that all the inconveniencies of this mode are yet observed. 
For they sell the cattle dear, and if they be consumed 
faster than the countries where they are bred can supply 
them, the stock must decrease and great scarcity ensue ; 
and thus your island, which seemed in this particular the. 
happiest place in the world, may suffer much by the cursed 
avarice of a few. 

' Moreover, the increased price of corn maketh all lessen 
their families as much as they can, and what can the dis- 
missed do but beo- or rob ? to which latter a great mind 
is sooner driven than to the former. Luxury likewise 
breaketh in apace upon you, to promote your poverty and 
misery. Excessive vanity in apparel prevaileth, and ex- 
travagance in diet. And this not only in noble families, 
but even among tradesmen; among the farmers themselves, 
and among all ranks. You have also many infamous, 
houses ; and, exclusively of those which are known to be 
such, your taverns and ale-houses^are no better. To these 
add cards, dice, &c. in which money quickly disappear-. 
eth, and the initiated must in the end betake themselves 
to robbery for a supply. 

* Banish these evils. Command those who have di$- 


peopled so many aeres, to rebuild the villages they have 
(destroyed, or to let their lands to those who will do so. 
Restrain those cngrossings of the rich, nearly as had as 
monopolies. Leave fewer occasions to idleness, restore 
agriculture, and regulate the manufacture of wool ; that 
employment may lie found for those whom want compell- 
eth to be thieves, or who being now idle vagabonds or 
useless servants will become thieves at last. If you find 
not a remedy for these evils, it is vain to boast of your 
severity in punishing theft ; which, though it ma}' wear the 
appearance of justice, is neither just nor salutary. For if 
you educate } T our people ill, and corrupt their manners 
from their infancy, then punish them for crimes to which 
they are disposed by education, what is it but to make 
thieves, and then punish them for being such ?' 

' While I was speaking, the counsellor was preparing an 
answer, and intended to recapitulate my discourse with all 
the formality of debate ; on which occasion remarks arc 
generally repeated with more fidelity than they are an- 
swered, as if strength of memory were the chief trial. 

1 You have talked prettily for a stranger (said he), who 
hath heard of many things among us which he hath not 
been able duly to consider. But I will explain the whole 
matter to you, first repeating in due order all you have 
said. I will then shew you how much your ignorance of 
our polity hath misled you, and will, lastly, answer all your 

E 2 


arguments. That I may begin where I promised : there 
were four things— ' 

' Hold your peace (cried the cardinal) this will take up 
too much time. We will therefore, for the present, save 
you the trouble of answering, and will reserve this for ouv 
next meeting, which shall be to-morrow, if Raphael's and 
your business will allow of it. 

' But, Raphael, (said the cardinal to me) I would know 
on what ground you think that theft ought not to be pu- 
nished with death. Would you give way to it, or pro- 
pose any other punishment more useful to the public ? 
Since death doth not restrain theft, what terror or force 
could restrain the wicked if they thought their lives safe ? 
Would they not feel the mitigation as an invitation to more 
crimes t' 

' It seemeth very unjust to me (I replied) to take away 
life for a little money, for nothing can be of equal value 
with life. And if it be said, that the suffering is not for 
the money, but for the breach of the law, I answer, ex- 
treme justice is an extreme injury. For we ought not to 
approve of those terrible laws, which make the smallest 
offences capital, nor of that opinion of the stoics which 
maketh all crimes equal : as if no difference were to be 
made between killing a man and taking liis purse, between 
which, in reality, there is the greatest disproportion. 


' God hath commanded us not to kill; shall we then kill 
for a little money ? And if it be said, the command cx- 
tendeth not to cases where the laws of the land allow of 
killing, on the same ground laws may be made in some 
cases to allow of perjury and adultery. God having taken 
from us the right of disposing cither of our own lives or 
those of others, if it be pretended that the mutual con- 
sent of mankind in framing laws, can authorize death in 
cases where God hath given us no example, that it super- 
sedeth the obligation of the divine law, and maketh mur- 
der lawful, what is this but to prefer human to divine laws ? 
Admit this, and men may in all cases lay what restrictions 
they please on God's laws. 

' If by the Mosaical law, though severe, being made for 
a stubborn people, fine, and not death, was the punish- 
ment for theft, we cannot imagine that in our new and 
merciful law, in which God treateth us with the tenderness 
of a father, he hath allowed of greater cruelty than to the 

* On these grounds it is, that I think putting thieves to 
death, not lawful. And it is obviously absurd, and pre- 
judicial to the commonwealth, that theft and murder should 
be punished alike. For, if a robber find that his danger is 
the same, if he be convicted of theft as if he had been 
guilty of murder, he will be incited to kill the person whom 
otherwise he would only have robbed ; since, the punish- 
ment being the same, there is less danger of discovery, 


when he who can best make it is killed. Thus, terrifying 
thieves too much, provoketh them to cruelty. 

' But as to the question, what more convenient punishment 
can be found, I think the discovery of this much easier 
than the invention of any worse mode. "Why should we 
doubt that the method so long in use among the old Ro- 
mans (who so well understood the arts of government) was 
very proper. They condemned such as they found guilty 
of great crimes, to work all their lives in quarries, or dig in 
mines with chains about them. 

' But the method I like best, is what I noticed in my 
travels in Persia, among the Polylerites, a considerable and 
well governed people. They pay a yearly tribute to the 
king of Persia, but in all other respects are free and go- 
verned by their own laws. They lie far from the sea and 
are environed with hills ; and being content with the pro- 
duce of their own country, which is very fruitful, they have 
little commerce with other nations. And as, according to 
the genius of their country, they have no inclination to ex- 
tend their territory, so their mountains and the pension 
they pay the Persian secure them from invasion. Thus 
they have no wars. They live conveniently rather than 
splendidly, and may be called a happy rather than an emi- 
nent people ; for I believe their very names are unknown to 
any but their nearest neighbours. 

'- Those who are found guilty of theft among them, are 


bound to make restitution to the owner, and not as else- 
where to the prince ; for they reckon that the prince hath 
no more right to the stolen goods than the thief. But if 
that which was stolen be no longer in being, then the 
thief's effects are valued, and restitution being made, the 
remainder is given to his wife and children, and himself 
condemned to serve in the public works ; but without im- 
prisonment or chains, unless some extraordinary circum- 
stances attend his crime. They go about at liberty, work- 
ing for the public. If they be idle, they are whipped ; 
but if they work hard, they are well used and treated with- 
out any mark of reproach, save that their names are called 
over at night and they are shut up. They surfer no other 
hardship, but this of constant labour ; for as they work for 
the public, so are they well provided for out of the public 
stock, which is managed differently in different places. 

' In some places, whatever is bestowed on them is raised 
by charitable contribution, and though this method might 
seem precarious, so merciful are the inclinations of that 
people, that they are plentifully supplied by it. In other 
places, public revenues are set aside for them, or there is a 
poll-tax for their maintenance. In others, they are em- 
ployed in no public Avork, but every one who hath occa- 
sion for labourers, goeth to the market-place and hireth 
them of the public, a little cheaper than he would do free- 
men ; and if they prove lazy, he may quicken them with 
the whip. Thus there is ever some piece of work or other 


to be done by them, and beside their livelihood, they eari 
something for the public. 

• They all wear a peculiar habit of a certain colour, then' 
hair is cropt a little above their ears, and a piece of one of 
their ears is cut off. Their friends are allowed to give them 
meat, drink, or clothes of the prescribed colour; but if 
they give them money, it is death to the giver and receiver. 
Nor is it less punishable for any freeman to take money 
from them on any account whatever ; and it is death for 
any of these slaves (as they are called) to handle arms. 
Those ef each division of the country are distinguished by 
a peculiar badge. It is a capital crime if they lay this 
aside, if they exceed their bounds, or talk to a slave of 
another jurisdiction. The very attempt at an escape is no 
less punishable than an escape itself. It is death for any 
other slave to be accessor} 7 to it, and if a freeman engage 
in it he is condemned to slavery. Those who discover such 
a design are rewarded ; if freemen, with money, if slaves, 
with liberty, with a pardon for being accessory ; that they 
may find their account in repenting of such an engagement, 
rather than in persisting in it. 

' These are their laws and regulations in regard to rob- 
bery ; and it is obvious that they are no less advantageous 
than mild. For not only vice is destroyed and men pre- 
served, but they are treated in a manner to convince them 
of the necessity of honesty, and of employing their re- 
maining days in repairing the injuries they have formerly 


done to society. Nor is there a hazard of their relapsing 
into their old ways. So little do travellers apprehend from 
them, that they use them as guides from one district to an- 
other. For, they have neither the means of robbing, nor 
would they reap any advantage by it, being unarmed, and 
the very possession of money being a conviction of them. 
And as they are certainly punished, if discovered, so they 
cannot hope to escape ; for their habit differing throughout 
from what is commonly worn, their only resource could be 
to go naked, and even then their cropped ear would betray 

' The only danger to be apprehended was, their con- 
spiring against the government. But one division could do 
nothing to any purpose, and a general conspiracy of th,e 
slaves of the several districts cannot be accomplished, since 
they cannot meet and talk together. Nor is it likely any 
would venture on a design where concealment was so dan- 
gerous and the discovery so profitable. None are quite 
hopeless of recovering their freedom, for by their obedience 
and patience, and by giving reason to believe that they 
will change their course of life, they may expect it at last. 
•Some are yearly restored to it, on the good character which 
is given of them/ 

' When I had said all this, I added, I saw not why such 
a method might not be followed, even in England, with 
more advantage, than could ever be expected from that 
severe justice which the counsellor so much applauded. 

Vol. II. F 


' It could never take place in England/ he replied, ' with- 
out endangering the whole country ; and as he said this, he 
shook his head, made some grimaces, and was silent. 

' All the company seemed of his opinion except the car- 
dinal, who said, it was not easy to form a judgment of its 
success, since it had not been tried. ' But if,' said he, 
« when sentence of death is passed on a thief, the prince 
would reprieve him a Avhile and make the experiment, de- 
nying him a sanctuary, and that it had a good effect upon 
him, it might take place ; and if it succeeded not, the sen- 
tence could be executed at last. I see not,' he added, 
' why it would be unjust, inconvenient, or in the least dan- 
gerous, to allow of such a delay. Vagabonds, in my opi- 
nion, ought to be treated in the same manner; against 
whom, though we have made many laws, yet have we not 
been able to gain our end/ 

' When the cardinal had said this, they all commended 
the notion, though they had despised it when it came from 
me. And they particularly applauded what related to the 
vagabonds, because it was his own observation. I know 
not whether it be worth while repeating what followed, for 
it was very ridiculous. But, as it is not foreign to this 
matter, and that some good use may be made of it, I will 
venture to do it 

4 A jester stood by, who counterfeited the fool so natural- 
ly, that he appeared to be one in reality. His jests Avere 


so cold and dull, that we laughed more at him than at them. 
Yet sometimes he said things, by chance as it were, which 
were pleasant enough ; confirming the old proverb, lie who 
often throweth the dice will sometimes make a lucky hit. 

' When one of the company had said, I had taken care of 
the thieves and the cardinal of the vagabonds, so that no- 
thing remained but that some public provision be made for 
the poor, whom sickness or age disabled from labour ; 
' Leave that to me,' said the fool, ' I shall take care of 
them, for there are none whose sight I abhor more, having 
been so often vexed with them and their complaints. But 
dolefully as they have told their tale, they could never 
draw one penny from me ; for either I had no mind to give 
them any thing, or when I had a mind, I had nothing to 
give them. They now know me so well, that they lose not 
their labour, but let me pass without troubling me, for they 
expect nothing, any more in faith than if I was a priest. 
But I would have a law made for sending- all these bego-ars 
to monasteries ; the men to the Benedictines to be made 
lay-brothers, the women to be nuns/ 

* The cardinal smiled and approved of this in jest, while 
the rest liked it in earnest. 

' A divine was present, who, though a grave man, was so 
pleased with the reflection on the priests and monks, that 
he began to joke with the fool, and said to him, this will not 
clear you of all beggars, unless you take care of us friars, 

F 2 


* That is done alreacW,' answered the fool, ' for the car- 
dinal hath provided for you by his proposal for vagabonds. 
— I know no vagabonds like you.' 

' This amused the whole company, who, looking at the 
cardinal, perceived he was not displeased at it. But the 
friar, as you may imagine, was vexed, and grew into such 
passion that he could not help calling the fool, knave, slan- 
derer, backbiter, and son of perdition, and then citing some 
dreadful denunciations against him from Scripture. 

' The jester thought he was now in his element, and laid 
about him freely. ' Good friar/ he said, < be not angry, 
for it is written, in patience possess your soul.' 

' The friar answered, (I give you his own words), ' I am 
not angry, you hang-dog, at least I sin not in it, for the 
Psalmist saith, be ye angry and sin not! 

' On this the cardinal admonished him gently, and wished 
him to govern his passion. 

' No, my lord,' said he, * I speak not but from a good 
zeal, which I ought to have. For the holy have had a good 
zeal, as it is said, the zeal of thy house hath eaten me up. 
And we sing in our church, that those who mocked Elisha 
as he went up to the house of God, felt the effect of his 
zeal, which that mocker, that rogue, that scoundrel, will 
perhaps feci.' 


1 You do this perhaps with a good intention,' said the 
cardinal, ' but in my opinion it were wiser, and perhaps 
better for you, not to engage in so ridiculous a contest with 
a fool/ 

' No, my lord,' answered he, ' that were not wise I \ 
done, for Solomon, * the wisest of men, said, answer a fool 
according to his folly ; which I now do, and shew him the 
ditch into which he Avill fall if he be not aware of it. For 
if the many mockers of Elisha, only one bald man, felt the 
effect of his zeal, what will become of one mocker of so 
many friars, among whom are so many bald men ? We 
have moreover a papal bull, by which all who jeer us are 

' When the cardinal saw that there was no end of this 
matter, he made a sign to the fool to withdraw, changed 
the discourse, and soon afterward arose from table ; and, 
taking leave of us,' went to hear causes. 

* Thus, Mr. More, I have run out into a tedious story, 
of the length of which I should have been ashamed, had 
not you earnestly begged it of me, and listened to it as if 
you had no mind to lose a word. I might have contracted 
it, but I resolved to give it you in detail, that you might 
observe how those who despised what l'had proposed, no 
sooner perceived that the cardinal did not disapprove of it, 
than they presently approved it, fawned on and flattered 
him, till they in good earnest applauded what he liked on- 


ly in jest. And hence ) T on may gather, how little courtiers 
would value either me or my counsels/ 

; You have done me,' I answered, ' a great kindness in 
this relation. For every thing hath been related by } r ou 
wisely and pleasantly, and you have made me imagine I 
was in my own country and grown young again, by recall- 
ing to my thoughts that good cardinal, in whose family I 
was bred from my childhood. And though on other ac- 
counts you are dear to me, yet are you dearer by honour- 
ing his memory so much. 

' But, after all you have said, I am still of opinion that 
if you could overcome your aversion to the courts of princes, 
you might materially benefit mankind, by the advice you 
could give ; and the benefit of mankind is the chief end 
which every good man should propose to himself in living. 
Vour friend Plato thought nations would be happy when 
philosophers became kings, or kings philosophers ; no won- 
der then we are so far from happiness, when philosophers 
will not think it their duty to assist kings with their coun- 

' Their minds are not so base/ he replied, ' but they 
would willingly do it (nay, many of them have done it by 
their writings), would those in power but listen to their ad- 
vice. But Plato judged rightly, that except kings them- 
selves became philosophers, being corrupted with false no- 
tions from their childhood, they would never consent en- 


tirely with the counsels of philosophers ; and the truth of 
this himself experienced in Dionysius. 

' Do not you think, if I was about any king, proposing 
good laws to him and endeavouring to root out all the 
cursed seeds of evil I could find in him, 1 should be turn- 
ed out of his court, or at least laughed at for my pains ? 

' For instance. What could it signify if I was about the 
king of France and called into his cabinet council, where 
several wise men were proposing sundry plans — as, by what 
arts Milan may be kept, and Naples, which hath so often 
slipped from his hands, recovered — how the Venetians, and 
after them the rest of Italy, may be subdued — then how 
Flanders, Brabant, and all Burgundy, with other kingdoms 
which he hath already swallowed in his designs, may be add- 
ed to his empire. 

' One proposeth a league with the Venetians, to be pre- 
served as long as he findeth his account in it ; and that he 
should communicate with them and give them a share of 
the spoil, till his successes render him less dependent on, 
or fearful of them, and then it may be easily broken. 

' Another proposeth hiring the Germans, and securing 
the Swiss by pensions ; another, gaining the emperor by 
money, his deity. A fourth proposeth a peace with the 
king of Arragon, and, to cement it, the yielding the king 
of Navarre's pretensions ; a fifth thinketh the prince of 


Castile may be wrought upon by the hope of an alliance, 
and that some of his courtiers are to be gained by pen- 

4 The most difficult point is, what is to be done with 
England ? A treaty of peace must be set on foot, and if 
her alliance be not to be depended on, yet it is to be made 
as firm as possible, and she is to be called a friend, but 
suspected as an enemy. The Scots must be kept in readi- 
ness, to be let loose upon her on every occasion ; and some 
banished nobleman, who hath a pretension to the crown, 
must be supported underhandly (from the league it can- 
not be done avowedly), that the mistrusted prince may be 
held in awe. 

* Now when matters are in this fermentation, and so 
many noblemen are joining in council how to carry on the 
war, if so mean a fellow as I should stand up and wish 
them to change all their counsels, to leave Italy alone and 
remain at home, France being a greater kingdom than 
could be properly governed by one man, and therefore not 
to be increased — If then I should propose to them the ex- 
ample of the Achorians, a people lying south-east of Uto- 
pia, who, long ago, engaged in war, to add another king- 
dom to the dominions of their prince, to which he had some 
pretension from an old alliance — 

• They conquered it, but found the trouble of keeping 
it as great as that by which it was gained ; that the con- 


queTcd were ever in rebellion or invaded by foreigners, 
while themselves were constantly at war either for or against 
them, and could never disband their army ; that in the 
meantime they were oppressed with taxes, their money 
went out of the kingdom, they spilt their blood for the 
glory of their king, without the least advantage to the 
people, even in time of peace ; and that, their manners be- 
ing corrupted by a long war, robbery and murder every- 
where abounded, and their laws fell into contempt, while 
their king, distracted by two kingdoms, was less able to 
apply his attention to the interest of either. 

' When they saw this, and that there would be no end 
of these evils, they humbly besought the king to choose 
whichever of the kingdoms he preferred, since he could not 
hold both — they would not, they said, be governed by half 
a king, when no man would willingly share, even a groom 
with another master. Upon this the good prince made 
over his new conquest to one of his friends (who was soon 
afterward dethroned) and contented himself with his old 

' To this I would add, that, after all these attempts, the 
confusion, consumption of treasure and people, which must 
ensue, perhaps, on some misfortune, they might be com- 
pelled to give up all at last. It therefore seemed much 
more eligible, that the king should improve his old king- 
dom as much as he could and make it flourish, that he 
should love his people, and be beloved by them ; that he 

Vol. II. G 


should live among them, govern them mildly, and leave 
other kingdoms alone, since what had fallen to his share 
was large enough, if not too large, for him. 

How think you, would such a speech as this be 

relished ?' 

4 Not very well, I believe and confess/ replied I. 

4 But/ said he, ' what if I fell in with another class of 
ministers, whose chief object is to increase the prince's trea- 
sure. Where one proposeth raising the value of specie 
when the king is in debt, and lowering it when his revenues 
come in, that he may pay much with little, and in a little 
receive a great deal. Another proposeth a pretence of war, 
that money may be raised to carry it on,, and a peace con- 
cluded as soon as this is done ; and this under such reli- 
gious pretences, as might work on the people, and make 
them impute it to the piety of their prince and his tender- 
ness for their lives. A third offereth some musty laws, an- 
tiquated by long disuse, and forgotten and broken by all ; 
and proposeth levying the penalties of them, which would 
bring in much, and there is a good pretence for it, since it 
would look like executing a law and doing justice. 

' A fourth proposeth to prohibit many things under se- 
vere penalties, especially such as are against the interest of 
the people ; and then dispensing with these prohibitions on 
great compositions, to those who might find their advantage 

UTOPIA. 4 i 

in breaking them. This would answer two ends, both of 
them acceptable to many. Those whose avarice led them 
to transgress would be severely fined ; and the selling licen- 
ces dear, would look as if the prince were tender of his 
people, and would not easily, or at a low rate, dispense 
with any thing which might be against the public good. 

* Another proposeth that the judges be secured, to de- 
clare ever in favour of the prerogative ; and that they be 
often sent for to court, to let the king hear them argue 
those points in which he is concerned. Since, however, 
unjust any of his pretensions may be, yet some one or 
other of them, in the spirit of contradiction, the pride of 
singularity, or to make his court, would find some pretence 
for giving the king a fair colour for carrying his point. For 
let the judges but differ in opinion, and the clearest thing 
in the world becometh disputable ; and the truth once 
brought in question, the king may expound the law to his 
own purpose, and the judges who stand out will be brought 
over by fear or modesty. Thus gained, they may all be 
sent to the bench to give sentence boldly, as the king would 
have it, for fair pretences will never be wanting when sen- 
tence is to be given in the prince's favour. It will either be 
said that equity lieth on his side, or some words in the law 
will be found bearing that sound, or some forced sense will 
be put upon them. And when all else faileth, the king's 
undoubted prerogative will be pretended, as what is above 
all law, and to which an upright judge ought to have espe- 

cial regard. 



' Thus all consent to the maxims of Crassus, that a king 
cannot have sufficient treasure, since he must maintain his 
armies from it ; that, if ever so much inclined that Avay, 
he can do no injustice ; that all property is vested in him, 
not even excepting the persons of his subjects ; and that 
no man hath any other property than what the king in his 
goodness chooseth should remain in his possession. They 
think it the interest of the prince, that a& little should re- 
main so, as may be, as if it was for his advantage, that his 
people should have neither riches nor liberty ; these mak- 
ing them less easy under cruelty and injustice, while pover- 
ty breaketh that spirit which might otherwise rebel. 

' If, Avhen all these propositions had been made, I should 
assert, that such counsels are mischievous and unbecoming 
a king, and that not only his honour, but his safety, con- 
sisteth more in his people's wealth than in his own. If I 
should shew, that they choose a king for their own sake 
and not for his, that by his exertion and care they may be 
easy as well as safe ; and that therefore a prince ought to 
be more solicitous of his people's happiness than of his 
oAvn, as a shepherd is to take more care of his flock than 
of himself — 

* They also are certainly much mistaken who imagine 
that poverty is a safeguard to a country. Who quarrel 
more than beggars ? Who more earnestly long for a change, 
than those whose present circumstances are uneasy to them? 

UTOPIA. 45 * 

And who create confusion so desperately, as those, who 
having nothing to lose, hope to gain by it ? 

' Should a king fall into such contempt or envy, that he 
could not preserve the allegiance of his subjects without 
oppression and impoverishment, he had better abdicate his 
throne, than preserve the name, without the dignity of au- 
thority ; and it is less dignity to reign over beggars, than 
over rich and happy subjects. The noble Fabricius said, 
he had rather govern rich men than be rich himself; since 
for one man to abound in wealth and pleasure, while all 
around him were groaning, became a jailer but not a king. 

' He is an unskilful physician who cannot cure one dis- 
order, without bringing another upon his patient ; and the 
prince who can find no other means of eradicating the evils 
of a state than that of banishing from it the conveniencies 
of life, proves that he knoweth not how to govern a free 
, people. 

' Let him rather shake off his sloth, or banish his pride ; 
for his people's contempt or hatred ariseth from his own 
vices. Let him live on his revenue without injuring any, 
and accommodate his expenditure to it. Let him punish, 
and endeavour to prevent, crimes, rather than be severe 
when he hath suffered them to become too common. Let 
him not rashly revive laws which are abrogated by disuse, 
especially when they have been long forgotten and not 
wanted. And let him never exact penalties for the breack. 


of them, except in cases where a judge would allow a pri- 
vate man to exact them, without imputing to him craft or 

* Here I would add that law of the Macarians, who he 
near Utopia, by which their king, on commencing his reign, 
is bound by an oath, which is confirmed by solemn sacri- 
fices, never to have above a thousand pounds of gold in his 
treasury at a time, or an equivalent value in silver. This 
law, they tell you, was made by an excellent king, who 
had more regard to his country's than his own wealth ; and 
therefore provided against the accumulation of treasure to 
the impoverishment of his people. He thought that sum 
sufficient for accidents, should the king require it against 
rebels, or the country against invasion ; yet insufficient to 
encourage the prince to invade the rights of others, his 
chief object in enacting the law. He also thought it a good 
security for that free circulation of money, which is the 
life of commerce. And, when a king is obliged to disburse 
the accumulations of the treasury beyond a certain sum, it 
inclineth him less to oppress his subjects. Such a king will 
be a terror to the wicked and beloved by the good. 

' If, as I said before, I should talk in this strain to 

men of the other persuasion, would they not be deaf to 
all I could say T 

' No doubt very deaf/ answered I, ' and no wonder, for 
it is very wrong to make propositions or give advice which 


we are sure will not be received. Such unusual discourse 
would avail nothing with men prepossessed by different 
sentiments ; and though this philosophical kind of specula- 
tion be not unpleasant among friends in free conversation, 
there is no room for it in the courts of princes, where af- 
fairs are conducted by authority.' 

' This is exactly what I affirmed,' replied he, ' there i* 
•no room for philosophy in the courts of princes.' 

' Yes there is,' said I, * but not for this speculative phi- 
losophy, which supposeth all things suitable to all occasions 
There is another philosophy more accommodating, who 
knoweth her place and accommodateth herself to it, teach- 
ing man, with propriety and decency to act the part which 
hath fallen to his lot. If, at a representation of one of 
Plautus' comedies, you came in the garb of a philosopher, 
and repeated from Octavia a discourse of Seneca to Nero, 
had you not better been silent than make an impertinent 
tragi-comedy by mixing incongruities, which spoil the play, 
though what you introduce be perhaps better ? Thus, in a 
commonwealth, and at the councils of princes, if evils can- 
not be rooted out or cured according to your wish, yet you 
must not abandon the state, as you would not leave the 
helm in a storm because you cannot command the winds. 
You are not obliged to attack people with discourses which 
are out of their way, when you find that their received opi- 
nions must prevent your making an impression on them. 
You ought rather to cast about and manage matters with 


all the dexterity in your power, that if you cannot make 
things go well, you may make them go as little otherwise 
as possible. Unless all are good, every thing cannot be 
right ; and that is a blessing I have no hopes of seeing at 

' By following your counsel,' replied he, c I should run 
a violent risk of going mad myself, while endeavouring to 
cure madness in others. If I will speak the truth, I must 
repeat what I have already said to you ; and whether phi- 
losophers can lie, I will not determine; certain I am, I can- 
not. But though such discourse may be disagreeable to 
them, I see not why it should seem foolish or extravagant. 
Indeed, if I should propose such inventions as Plato's in 
his Commonwealth, or those of the Utopians, though they 
might seem better, as certainly they be, yet differ they so 
much from our establishment, founded on property (which 
is unknown among them) that I could not expect any ef- 
fect from it. But discourses like mine, which only recal 
past evils to mind, and warn of what may happen, con- 
tain no such absurdity, but they may be used at any time ; 
for they can be unpleasant only to those who are resolved 
to run headlong the contrary way. And if Ave must pass 
over as absurd or extravagant [every thing which, owing to 
the wickedness of many, may seem harsh, Ave must not 
urge most of those truths which Christ hath taught us, even 
among Christians ; though he hath commanded, Ave should 
proclaim on the house-tops what he taught in secret. Most 
of his precepts oppose themselves to the lives of this age. 



more than doth my discourse ; but your preachers seem to 

have learned the craft which you recommend. Observing 

that the world would not suit their lives to Christ's rules, 

they have adapted his doctrine (like a leaden ruler) to thru 

lives, that they might agree some way or other. But this 

compliance hath had no other effect than that men become 

more secure in their wickedness by it. And this is all the 

success I can expect in a court ; I must ever differ from 

the rest, so shall be of no signification ; had I agreed with 

them, I should only have promoted their madness. 

' I comprehend not what you mean by casting about, 
or managing matters so dexterously, that if they go not 
well, they may go as little otherwise as may be ; for in 
courts a man cannot hold his peace, or connive at the ac- 
tions of others. He must openly approve the worst coun- 
sels, and consent to the blackest designs, so that, in your 
way, he would pass for a spy, or perhaps a traitor, who 
only coldly acquiesced in such practices. Engaged in such 
connections, he will be so far from mending matters by 
casting about, as you call it, that he will find no opportu- 
nities of doing good. His evil communicants will sooner 
corrupt him than be benefited by him, or, should he remain 
innocent, their folly and knavery will be imputed to him ; 
and by joining in their counsels, he must bear his share of 
all the blame which belongeth wholly to others. 

' It is no bad simile by which Plato shewed, how unrea- 
sonable it is for a philosopher to meddle with government. 
Vol. II. H 


If a man,' he says, * saw a company run daily into the 
rain with delight, and knew that it would be to no purpose 
to endeavour to persuade them to return home and avoid 
the storm, and that all he could expect would be to be ;;> 
wet as they, it would be best for him to remain at home, 
and, since he could not correct the folly of others, take 
care of himself. But, to speak my real sentiment, I must 
own, as long as there is any property, and money is the 
standard of all things else, I cannot think that a country 
can be governed justly or happily. Not justly, for the best 
things will fall to the lot of the worst men ; not happily, 
for all things will be divided among a few, who are not 
completely happy, while the rest are left in absolute 

' When, therefore, I reflect on the wise and good con- 
stitution of the Utopians, among whom all things are so 
well regulated by so few laws ; where virtue hath its re- 
ward, yet is there such an equality that every man liveth 
in plenty ; when I compare with them so many other na- 
tions, which are ever making new laws, yet cannot bring 
their constitution to a due standard, though every one hath 
his property ; where all the laws they can invent cannot 
obtain or preserve it, or even enable men to distinguish 
their own from another's, as the many law-suits, eternally 
depending, prove ; when, I say, I weigh all these things, 
I incline more and more to Plato's opinion, and wonder 
not, that he resolved not to make any laws for such as 
would not submit to a community of all. things. 


1 So wise a man could not but foresee, that placing all 
Upon a level was the only way to make a nation happy ; 
and this cannot be, so long as there is property. ^ For, 
when every one draweth to himself all he can, by one claim 
or other, it must follow, that how rich soever a country 
may be, yet, a few dividing her wealth among themselves, 
the rest must become indigent. Thus there will be two 
descriptions of people among them who deserve an inter- 
change of circumstances ; one useless, but wicked and ra- 
pacious ; the other sincere and modest, serving the public 
more than themselves by their industry. Whence I am 
persuaded, that until property be destroyed, there can be 
no just distribution of things, nor can the world be hap- 
pily governed ; for while it is maintained, the greater and 
better part of mankind will be oppressed with care and 

' I confess, that without destroying it entirely, the op- 
pressions of many may be lightened, but they can never 
be quite removed. For if laws were enacted to determine 
at what extent of territory, and what amount of money 
every man must stop, to limit the prince that he grew not 
too great, and the people that they became not too in- 
solent, and to prevent any from factiously aspiring to pub- 
lic employments which ought neither to be sold nor made 
burdensome (for then those who serve them would reim- 
burse themselves by knavery and violence, and it would 
be necessary to find rich men for those places which ought 
rather to be holden by the wise) ; these laws, I say, might 

H 2 


have a similar effect with good diet and care upon a sick 
man, they might mitigate the disorder, but the bod} 7 po- 
litic could never again be brought to a good habit while 
property remained ; and it will happen, as in a complica- 
tion of disorders, that, applying a remedy to one part, you 
will do harm elsewhere. 5 

' On the contrary/ answered I, * it appeareth to mc 
that men cannot live conveniently where all things are in 
common. How can there be any plenty where every man 
excuseth himself from labour? For the hope of gain exeit- 
eth him not, and his confidence in the industry of others 
may make him slothful. If men be pinched by want, yet 
cannot dispose of any thing as their own, what can follow 
but sedition and bloodshed, especially when the authority 
of magistrates is wanting, for I see not how that can exist 
among these equals/ 

' I dp not wonder/ he replied, ' that it appeareth so to 
you, since you have no notion, or at least no just one, of 
such a constitution. But had you been in Utopia with me 
and seen her laws and regulations as I did for five years, 
(during which I was so delighted with the place, that I 
should never have left it, but to make the discovery of that 
new world to Europeans), you would confess that you had 
never seen a people so well constituted/ 

4 You will not easily persuade me/ said Peter, ' that 
any country in that new world is better governed than those 


among us. For our understandings are not inferior to 
theirs, and our government being more ancient (if I mis- 
take not), Jong practice hath holpen us to many conve- 
niencies of life, and happy casualties have discovered other 
things which no human understanding could ever have in- 

* As for the antiquity of either their government or ours/ 
said he, ' you cannot form a true judgment of it unless 
you had read their histories ; for if these be entitled to cre- 
dit, they had towns among them before these parts had in- 
habitants. And as for those discoveries which chance or 
ingenuity hath made, they might have happened there as 
well as here. I denv not that we are more ingenious, but 
they greatly excel us in industry and application. They 
knew little of us before our arrival among them, and they 
call us, in general, the nations lying beyond the equinoc- 

* Their chronicle recordeth a shipwreck which happened 
on their coast twelve hundred years ago, and some Romans 
and Egyptians reaching the shore, spent their lives among 
them. Their ingenuity was such, that they acquired from 
these men, as far as they knew them, all the useful arts 
then common among the Romans ; and from their hints 
they found out more of those arts, less ably explained to 
them. But hath such an accident at any time brought any 
of them into Europe, we, so far from improving, do not 
even retain the memory of it ; as hereafter it will probably 


be forgotten that I was ever there. And this is the true 
cause why they are better governed and live happier than 
we do, though we fall not short of them in understanding 
or external advantages/ 

On this, I said to him, ' I beg you will describe that 
island very particularly to us; that is, her soil, rivers, towns, 
people, manners, constitution, laws, and, in a word, all 
that you think will interest us ; and you will easily con- 
ceive we have much curiosity about a people so new to 

' I willingly comply/ he answered, ' for I have digest- 
ed the matter with care, but the relation will take up some 

5 Let us go and dine then/ said I, ' after which we shall 
nave leisure enough/ 

He consented, we went to dinner, and afterward return- 
ed to the same place. 1 ordered my servants to take care 
that we were not interrupted, and Peter and I desired 
Raphael to perform his promise. 

Observing our attention, after a little recollection, he be- 
gan thus 




* 1 he island of Utopia is 200 miles broad in the middle, 
and over a great part of it, but grows narrower at either 
end. The figure of it is not unlike a crescent. Eleven 
miles breadth of sea washeth its horns and formeth a con- 
siderable bay, encompassed by a shore about 500 miles in 
extent, and well sheltered from storms. In the bay is no 
great current. The whole coast is as it were a continued 
harbour, affording the whole island every advantage of mu- 
tual intercourse. Yet the entrance into the bay, owing to 
rocks and shoals, is very dangerous. 

In the middle is a rock which appeareth above water, 
on whose top is a tower inhabited by a garrison. The other 


rocks lie under water, and are very dangerous. The chan- 
nel is known only by the natives, and a stranger entering 
the bay without one of their pilots would be in imminent 
danger of shipwreck. Themselves could not pass it in safe- 
ty, without certain marks on the coast to direct their waj\ 
And if these were a little altered, any fleet coming against 
them, however large, would certainly be lost. On the other 
side of the island are likewise many harbours ; and the 
coast is so fortified by nature as well as art, that a small 
force could hinder the descent of a large army. 

Report saith (and marks of its credibility remain) that 
this island was originally a part of the continent. Utopus, 
the conqueror of it, and whose name it now bears (having 
previously been called Abraxa), brought the government 
and civility of the rude inhabitants to their present highly 
improved state. Having easily subdued them, he formed 
the design of separating them from the continent and en- 
compassing them with the sea. To this end, he ordered a 
deep channel to be dug 15 miles long ; and that the na- 
tives might not think he treated them like slaves, he not 
only obliged them, but also his own soldiers to labour at 
the work. From the number of hands employed, it was 
finished with dispatch exceeding every man's expectation ; 
and his neighbours, who at first laughed at the folly of the 
undertaking, when they saw it accomplished, were struck 
with admiration and terror. 

There are 54 cities in the island, all of them large and 

UTOPU. 57 

well built. Their laws, manners, and customs, arc the 
same, and they resemble each other as nearly as the ground 
they stand on will allow. The nearest to each other are at 
least 24 miles asunder ; and the most remote, not above a 
day's journey on loot. Every city sendeth three of her 
wisest senators once a-ycar to Ainaurot (the capital of the 
island, and situate in the center), to consult on their com- 
mon interests. The jurisdiction of every city extendeth at 
least 20 miles, and farther where they lie wider asunder. 
No one desircth to enlarge her boundary, for the people 
consider themselves in the light of good husbands, rather 
than owners, of their lands. 

They have built farm-houses over the whole country, 
which are well contrived and furnished with every neces- 
sary. Inhabitants for them are sent in rotation from the 
cities. No family in the country hath fewer than forty men 
and women in it, beside two slaves. A master and mis- 
tress preside over every family, and over thirty families a 
magistrate. Every year twenty of the family return to 
town after having been two years in the country, and in 
their place other twenty are sent to learn country business 
of those who have been there only one year, and must, in 
their turn, teach the next comers. Thus, those who live on 
the farms are never ignorant of agriculture, and commit no 
fatal errors, such as causing a scarcity of corn. 

But, notwithstanding these yearly changes, to prevent any 
from being compelled against inclination to follow that 
Vol. II. I 


hard course of life too long, many of them take such plea- 
sure in it, that they ask leave to continue therein many 
years. These husbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, 
hew wood, and send it to the towns by land or water, as is 
most convenient. They breed an infinity of chickens in a 
very curious manner. They arc not hatched by hens, but 
a vast number of eggs are hatched together by means of 
an equable artificial warmth ; and no sooner do the young 
quit the shell, than they consider their feeder as their dam, 
and follow man as other chickens do the hen. 1 

They breed few horses, but those they have are high-met- 
tled, and employed in exercising their youth in horseman- 
ship. In the cart and plough they use oxen. For, though 
their horses be stronger, they find their oxen more patient 
of labour, subject to fewer disorders, and maintained at 
less charge and trouble ; and when no longer fit for labour, 
they are good meat at last. 

They sow no more corn than they want for their bread, 
for they drink wine, cider, or perry, and often water, some- 
times boiled with honey or liquorice, in which they abound. 
And though they know exactly how much corn every city 
and the tract belonging to it require, they sow much more, 
and breed more cattle than are necessary for their con- 
sumption, giving the overplus to their neighbours. When 
they want any thing in the country which it doth not pro- 
duce, they fetch it from the city without carrying any thing 
in exchange, and the city magistrates take care to see them 


supplied. At harvest time, the country magistrates in- 
form those in the city how many reapers they want, which 
number being supplied, they commonly dispatch the work 
in a day. He who knows one of their towns, knows them 
all, they are so much alike unless their situations differ. I 
will therefore describe one of them ; and none is so proper 
as Amaurot : for all the rest yield to it in precedence (it 
being the seat of supreme council), and I have lived in it 
five years. 

It licth on the side of a hill, or rather a rising ground. 
Its figure is nearly a square. For one side, which begiuneth 
a little below the top of the hill, runneth two miles, until 
it come to the river Anidcr ; but the side which runneth 
along the bank of that river is a little broader. The Anider 
riseth about 80 miles above the city, in a small spring, but 
is afterward joined by other streams, of which two are more 
considerable than the rest. At Amaurot it is half a mile 
broad, but still increases, till, after a course of 6*0 miles be- 
low it, it loses itself in the ocean. Between the town and 
the sea, and for some miles above the town, it ebbs and 
flows every six hours with a strong current. The tide com- 
eth up so full for about 30 miles, that the water is salt, and 
some miles above that it is brackish ; but a little higher, as 
it runneth past the town, it is quite fresh, and at the ebb 
it continueth fresh to the sea. 

A stone bridge is thrown over the river, consisting of many 
stately arches. It is situate at the part of the town which 

I 2 


is farthest from the sea, that ships may lie along side of the 
town. There is also another pleasant small river, rising in 
the same hill on which the town standeth, which runs down 
through it and falls into Anider. The inhabitants have for- 
tified the fountain-head of this river (which springeth a little 
without the town), that if they be besieged, the enemy may 
not be able to stop, divert, or poison the water. It is car- 
ried thence in earthen pipes to the lower streets. And for 
those parts of the town to which this water cannot be con- 
veyed, they have large cisterns for receiving rain water, 
which supplieth its place. 

The city is compassed with a high thick wall, in which 
are many forts and towers. A broad and deep dry ditch, 
set thickly with thorns, guardeth three sides of it, and the 
river the fourth. The streets are conveniently contrived 
for carriages, and are well sheltered from the winds. Their 
buildings are good, and so uniform, that the side of a street 
looketh like one large house. The streets are twenty feet 
broad. Behind every house is a garden, large, but inclosed 
by buildings, which face the back part of the street ; and 
every house hath a door to the street and a back door to 
the garden. They use folding doors, which open with the 
utmost ease, and shut themselves ; and there being no pro- 
perty among them, any person may enter wherever he 
pleases — they change their very houses by lot every ten 

They cultivate their gardens with much care, and have 


vines, fruits, herbs, and flowers. All is so well ordered 
and so finely kept, that I never saw gardens so uniting 
beauty with fertility. This cometh, not only from the plea- 
sure their gardens afford them, but also from an emulation 
among the inhabitants of different streets, who vie with 
eaeh other. Nothing belonging to the town is more useful 
and pleasant, and the founder of the city seems to have 
had a particular eye to these gardens. 

Report saith, the first design of the town was by Utopus. 
But he left ornament and improvement to his successors, 
that being more than one man could accomplish. The re- 
cords of the town and state are preserved with great care,, 
and extend 1760 years backward. By these it appears, 
that their houses were at first low and mean, like cottages, 
with mud Avails, any kind of timber, and thatched with 
straAV. At present their houses are three storys high, faced 
with stone, plaster, or brick, and in the intervals is thrown 
the rubbish. Their roofs are flat, and they lay on them a 
kind of cheap plaster, Avhich Avill not take fire, yet resists 
weather better than lead. Abounding in glass, they glaze 
their Avindows ; and use also a thin linen cloth, so oiled or 
gummed, that it excludes Avind Avhile it freely admits 

Thirty families choose yearly a magistrate, Avho Avas for- 
merly called the syphogrant, but now the philarch. Over 
every ten syphogrants, with these their families each, is an- 
other magistrate, formerly called tranibor, now protophi- 


larch. The syphogvants, 200 in number, choose the prince 
from a list of four, named by the people of the four divi- 
sions of the city, taking an oath beforehand, that they will 
choose him whom they think fittest for the office. They 
vote privately, so that it is not known for whom each giv- 
eth his suffrage ; and the prince is for life, unless he be re- 
moved on suspicion of a design to enslave his people. 

The tranibors are newly chosen every year, yet general- 
ly continued ; while all their other magistrates are annual. 
They meet every third day (oftener if necessary), and con- 
sult with the prince concerning the general interests of the 
state, or private dissensions among the people, though the 
latter seldom happen. Two syphogrants are alway called 
into the council-chamber, and are changed daily. It is a 
fundamental rule of the constitution, that nothing relative 
to the public can be concluded, until the matter hath been 
debated three days in the council. And it is death for any 
to meet and hold consultation concerning the state, ex- 
cept at their council, or in the general assembly of the 

This hath been so provided, that the prince and the 
tranibors may not conspire to change the government and 
enslave the people. Therefore, when any thing of great 
importance is on foot, the syphogrants arc made acquaint- 
ed with it, who, when they have communicated it to the 
families belonging to their divisions, and have considered 
it themselves, make report to the senate ; and on great oc- 


casions, the matter is referred to the eouncil of the whole 

One rule observed in their council is, never to debate. ;i 
subject on the day on which it is proposed. It is ever re- 
ferred to the next meeting, for fear of rashness and the 
heat of argument ; which might lead them, instead of con- 
sulting the public good, to support their first opinions, and 
hazard their country rather than endanger their own reput- 
ation. To prevent this, they are made deliberate rather 
than expeditious. 

Agriculture is so universally understood among them, 
that neither man nor woman is ignorant of it. They are 
instructed in it from their childhood, partly at school and 
partly by practice, being frequently led into the fields near 
the town, where they not only see others at work, but be- 
come exercised in it themselves. Beside agriculture, so. 
common to them, every man hath some peculiar trade, as 
the manufacture of wool or flax, masonry, smith's or car- 
penter's work. No other trade is in great esteem among 
them. Throughout the island they wear one sort of clothes, 
without any other distinction than what is necessary for dif- 
ferent sexes, and the married and unmarried. The fashion 
never changes, is easy and agreeable, suited to the climate, 
and for summer as well as winter. 

Every family maketh clothes for itself; and women as 
well as men all learn some one of the trades before men- 


tioned. The women generally engage in the wool and flax, 
leaving the ruder trades to the men. One trade is general- 
ly followed by father and son, their inclinations often agree- 
ing. But if any man's genius pointeth another way, he is 
adopted into a family professing the trade he prefers, and 
care is taken by his father and by the magistrate that his 
master be a proper person. If, when one hath learned a 
certain trade, he desire to acquire another, that is also al- 
lowed, and is managed as before. And when he hath learn- 
ed both, he follows that which he prefers, unless the public 
hath more occasion for one than the other. 

The chief and almost only business of the syphogrants, 
is to take care that no man liveth idly, but that every one 
followeth his trade diligently. Yet they exhaust not them- 
selves with perpetual toil from morning to night, as if they 
were beasts of burden ; which is indeed a heavy slavery, 
yet the common course of life among all mechanics save 
the Utopians. But, dividing the day and night into twenty- 
four hours, they appoint six for work, three before and 
three after dinner. They then sup, and at eight o'clock, 
reckoning from noon, they go to bed and sleep eight hours. 
The rest of his time is left to every man's discretion. Yet 
they are not to dissipate the interval in luxury and idle- 
ness, but must employ it in some proper exercise, accord- 
ing to their various inclinations, which is generally read- 

They have public lectures every morning before day- 


break. None are obliged to attend, except those who are 
appointed to literary professions ; yet many women as well 
as men o-o to hear lectures of one sort or other, according 
to their inclinations. If others, not formed for contempla- 
tion, prefer employing themselves at that time in their 
trades, as many of them do, they arc not hindered, but are 
commended as subjects desirous of serving their country. 

After supper, they spend an hour in some diversion, in 
summer in the garden, and in winter in their halls, enter- 
taining each other with music or discourse. They have no 
idea of dice, or of any foolish and mischievous game. They 
have, however, two games not unlike our chess. The one, 
a battle of numbers, in which number consumes number. 
The other, a contest between the virtues and vices, in which 
the discord among the vices themselves and their union 
against virtue is not unpleasantly represented ; together 
with the particular opposition between certain virtues and 
vices, and the methods in which vice openly assaults, or se- 
cretly undermines virtue, and virtue resists. 

The time appointed for labour must be narrowly examin- 
ed, or, as you may conceive, since only six hours are ap- 
propriated thereto, a scarcity of the necessaries of life might 
ensue. But this time is so far from being insufficient for 
supplying them with necessaries and conveniencies, that 
part of it is superfluous, as you may apprehend by con- 
sidering how large a proportion of all other nations is total- 
ly idle. 

Vol. II. K 


In the first place, women generally do little, and they 
are half of mankind ; and if a few women be diligent, their 
husbands are idle. Then consider the great number of idle 
priests, and what are called religious persons. Add to these 
the rich, those chiefly who have landed property, called 
noblemen and gentlemen, with their families of idle per- 
sons, kept for show rather than use. Then add those strong 
and lusty beggars who go about pretending disease in ex- 
tenuation of be^sins;. On the whole, you will find that the 
number of those, by whose labour mankind is supplied, is 
much smaller than you imagine. 

Next, consider how few of those who work are employ- 
ed in labours of real utility. For we, who measure all 
things by money, give rise to many trades which are vain 
and superfluous, and which serve only to support riot and 
luxury. If the labouring part of mankind were employed 
only on the necessaries of life, these would so abound, that 
their price would fall, and the tradesman could not be main- 
tained. But if all they who labour in useless avocations 
were more profitably employed, and all they who languish 
out their lives in idleness and sloth (each of whom consum- 
eth as much as two of the laborious), were compelled to 
labour, you may readily conceive, that little time would 
accomplish all that is necessary, profitable, or agreeable 
to mankind, especially while pleasure is kept within due 

This is proved in Utopia. For there, in a large city, and 


in aJl the territory about it, you can scarcely find 500 either 
men or women, who, from their age and strength, are ca- 
pable of labour, and arc not engaged in it. The very 
syphogrants, though excused by law, excuse not them- 
selves, but work that their example may incite the industry 
of the rest. A similar exemption is allowed to those who 
are recommended to the people by the priests, and privi- 
leged from labour by the private suffrages of the sypho- 
grants, that they may devote themselves wholly to study. 
But if any of them fall short of the hopes they seemed to 
give, they are obliged to return to manual labour. And 
sometimes a mechanic, who so employs his leisure as to ad- 
vance considerably in learning, is raised to the rank of one 
of their learned. From these they choose their ambassa- 
dors, priests, tranibors, and the prince himself, formerly 
called their Barzanes, but of late their Ademus. 

Thus, from the number among them who are neither suf- 
fered to be idle nor to be uselessly employed, you may esti- 
mate how much may be done in their few hours of labour. 
But beside this, we are to remember that the useful arts are 
managed with less labour among them than elsewhere. 
The building or repair of houses employeth many hands 
with us. For a thriftless heir often suffers the bouse his fa- 
ther built to fall into decay, and his successor is at great 
cost to repair what might have been kept up at small ex- 
pence. It often happens too, that the house which one 
person built at a great expence, is neglected by another 
who thinks he hath better taste in architecture, and, let- 



ting it go to ruin, builds another at no less expence. But 
among the Utopians, all is so regulated, that they seldom 
require new building-ground. They not only repair their 
houses with great expedition, but shew much skill in pre- 
venting their decay ; and their buildings are preserved very 
long with little labour. Thus too, their builders are often 
without employment, except in hewing timber and squar- 
ing stone, in case of wanting to raise a building on a sud- 
den emergency. 

As for their clothes, observe how little labour is spent on 
them. While at work, they wear loose dresses of leather 
and skins, which will last seven years. When they appear 
in public, they put on an upper garment which hides the 
other. These garments are all of one colour, the natural 
one of the wool. They need less woollen cloth than is used 
anywhere else, and what they use is much less costly. Of 
linen cloth they use more, but it is made with less labour ; 
and they value cloth only from the whiteness of the linen 
or cleanness of the wool, without much regard to the fine- 
ness of the thread. While in other places, four or five up- 
per garments of Avoollen cloth, of different colours, and as 
many silken vests, are hardly sufficient, and while the nicer 
sort think ten too few, here every man is content with one, 
wliich often lasteth him two years. Nor is there any tempt- 
ation to desire more ; for no man would be the warmer, 
nor make one jot the better appearance for them. 

Thus, employed in useful labour, and content with little, 


abundance of all things prcvailcth among them. It fre- 
quently happens indeed, that lor want of other work, num- 
bers of them arc sent out to repair the highways. But 
when no public call requires their attendance, the hours of 
labour are curtailed. The magistrates never impose unne- 
cessary labour on the people. For, the chief end of the 
constitution is, to regulate labour by the public wants, and 
to alloAV all as much time as possible for mental improve- 
ment, in which they judge the happiness of life to con_ 

But it is now time to explain to you the mutual inter- 
course of this people, their commerce and regulations. 

As their cities are composed of families, so their families 
are made up of those who are nearly related to each other. 
Their women, as they grow up, are married into other fa- 
milies. But the males, children and grandchildren, live 
still in the same house, in great obedience to the common 
parent ; unless age hath weakened his understanding, and 
then the next in age supplieth his place. But due care is 
taken that no city become too populous, or be dispeopled. 
No city may contain above 6000 families beside those of 
the circumjacent country. And no family may have less 
than ten, or more than sixteen, persons in it ; without any 
limitation for the children under age. This rule is easily 
observed, by removing some of the children of a more 
fruitful couple to a less abundant family. 


In the same way, they supply cities which increase not 
so fast, from others which people themselves faster. And 
if there be any extraordinary increase over the whole island, 
they select a number of citizens from the several towns, and 
send them to the neighbouring continent. Where, if they 
find the inhabitants have more soil than they can well cul- 
tivate, they plant a colony and take them into their society. 
And if these inhabitants be willing to live with thein, enter 
into their mode of life, and conform to their regulations, 
it proveth a happiness to both ; for by their laws such care 
is taken of the soil, that it becometh fruitful enough for 
both, although it might have been insufficient for either. 
But if the natives refuse to conform themselves to their 
laws, they drive them out of the boundary which they mark 
for themselves, and use violence if they resist. They esteem 
a very just warfare, the dispossession of others from soil 
which they leave idle and uncultivated ; every man having 
a natural right to such a waste portion of earth, when ne- 
cessary to his subsistence. 

If any accident so lessen the number of inhabitants in a 
town that it cannot be supplied from the other towns of 
the island without diminishing them too much (which is 
said to have happened but twice since they were a people, 
and then by the plague), it is made-up by recalling as 
many as are wanted from their colonies. For they abandon 
these rather than suffer the towns in the island to be de- 


But to return to their manner of living. The oldest man 
'of every family, as already said, presides in it. Wives 
obey their husbands, and children their parents, junior ever 
serving senior. Every city is divided into four equal parts, 
and in the middle of each is a market-place. What is ma- 
nufactured by the several families and brought thither, is 
carried to houses appointed for that purpose. In these, all 
things of one kind are laid together, and every father go- 
eth thither and taketh whatever he or his family need, with- 
out paying for it, or leaving any exchange. There is no 
reason for giving any one a denial, since they have such 
plenty of all things. And there is no danger of any one 
asking for more than he needeth ; for, being sure they shall 
alway be supplied, they have no inducement of the kind. 

It is the fear of want which rendereth any animal greedy 
or ravenous. And beside this fear, there is a pride in man 
which maketh him esteem it a glory to excel his fellow- 
creature in pomp and excess. The laws of Utopia leave 
no room for these feelings. 

Near these markets, are others for every kind of pro- 
vision. Here are herbs, fruits, bread, fish, fowl, and cattle. 
Without their towns, are appointed places, near a running 
stream, for killing their beasts, which is done by their 
slaves. They allow none of the citizens to kill their cattle, 
thinking that pity and good nature (which are among the 
best of the affections born in us) are greatly impaired by 
butchering animals. Nor do they suffer any tiling foul or 


unclean to be brought into their towns, lest the air be in- 
fected with ill scents which might injure their health. 

In every street are spacious halls, lying at equal distances 
from each other, and distinguished by particular names. 
The syphogrants dwell in them, with their thirty respec- 
tive families, fifteen lying on one side of it, and as many 
on the other ; and here they meet and hold their repasts. 
The steward of each goeth to the market at an appointed 
hour, and taketh home provision according to the number 
belonging to his hall. 

But they take the greatest care of their sick ; who are 
lodged and provided-for in public hospitals. They have 
four of these to every town, built without the walls, and 
so spacious, that they are like little towns. By this mean, 
had they ever so many sick, they could lodge them conve- 
niently, and so far apart, that no apprehension of infec- 
tion could arise from those labouring under contagious dis- 
orders. The hospitals are provided with every thing ne- 
cessary for the ease and restoration of the sick. And the 
patients are looked after with such tenderness and solici- 
tude, and are so constantly attended by their skilful phy- 
sicians, that as none are sent thither against their inclina- 
tions, so is there scarcely one person in a whole town, who, 
should he be taken ill, Avould not choose rather to go thither 
than lie at home. 

When the steward of the hospitals hath taken for the 


■sick whatever the physician prescribes, the best things left 
in the market are distributed to the halls in proportion to 
their numbers ; first serving the prince, the chief priest, the 
tranibors, ambassadors, and strangers, if any among them. 
The last indeed seldom happens ; yet have they well fur- 
nished houses, particularly appointed for their reception 
when they come. 

At the hours of dinner and supper, the whole sypho- 
granty being assembled by trumpet, they meet and eat to- 
gether, excepting only those who are in the hospitals or lie 
•sick at home. Yet after the halls are supplied, no man is 
hindered from carrying home provision from the market- 
place, for they know that no one doth it except for some 
good reason. For, though any one who pleaseth may eat at 
home, no one doth it from inclination, it being absurd to 
prepare a bad dinner at home, when a much more plenti- 
ful one is ready for him so near his residence. 

The unpleasant and sordid services about these halls, are 
performed by their slaves. But dressing their meat and 
ordering their tables belong to the women, every family 
taking it by rotation. They sit at three or more tables ac- 
cording to their number, the men toward the wall, the 
women on the outside. Thus, if any of the women be 
taken suddenly ill (which is not uncommon when they are 
in a state of pregnancy), she may, without disturbing the 
rest, rise and go to the nursery, where are nurses with the 
unweaned infants, clean water, cradles, and a fire. 

Vol. II. L 


Every child is nursed by its own mother, unless death or 
sickness prevent. In that case the syphogrants' wives quickly 
provide a nurse, which is no difficulty, as any woman who 
can do it, offereth herself cheerfully. And, to make her 
amends, the child she nurseth considereth her as its mo- 

The children under five sit among the nurses. The other 
young of either sex, until marriageable, serve those who 
sit at table, or, if unequal to that in strength, stand by 
them in silence and eat what is given them. Nor have they 
any other particular form at their dinners. 

In the middle of the first table, which standeth across 
the upper end of the hall, sit the syphogrant and his wife, 
that being the most conspicuous place. Next to him sit 
two of the oldest, there being throughout four in a mess. 
If there be a temple within that syphogranty, the priest 
and his wife sit with the syphogrant above the rest. Next 
to them come a mixture of old and young, so distributed, 
that though near to others of their own age, they are 
mingled with the elders. This, they say, was so instituted, 
that the gravity of the old, and the respect due to them, 
might restrain the young from all indecent words and ges- 

The dishes are not served to the whole table at first, but 
the best are set before the old (whose seats are distinguish- 
ed from the young), and after them all the rest are served 


alike. The elders distribute to the young any choice meats 
which happen to be set before them, if there be not such 
an abundance of them that the whole company may share 
them alike. Thus the aged are honoured with particular 
marks of respect, and yet all the rest fare as well as they 

Dinner, as well as supper, is begun with some moral 
lecture which is read to them, but which is so short that it 
cannot be deemed tedious. Hence, the old take occasion 
to entertain those about them with some useful and amus- 
ing amplifications. Yet they engross not the whole con- 
versation, but rather engage the young in it, that they may 
discover their spirit and temper. They dispatch their din- 
ners quickly, but sit long at supper, for they go-- to work 
after the one, and sleep after the other ; and sleep they 
think promotes digestion. They never sup without music, 
and fruit is ever served up after their meat. While they 
are at table, perfumes are burned, and fragrant ointments 
and sweet waters sprinkled about the room. In short, they 
want nothing which may cheer their spirits ; and allow 
themselves great latitude this way, indulging in every plea- 
sure which is unattended with inconvenient consequences. 

Thus live the inhabitants of the towns. In the country, 
where they live at considerable distances asunder, every 
one eats at home, and no family is without necessary pro- 
vision ; for from them are sent provisions to those living ia 
the towns. 

L 2 


If any person have a mind to visit his friends in another 
town, or desire to travel and see the rest of the country, he 
easily obtains leave from the syphogrant and tranibors, 
when he is not wanted at home. A traveller carries a pass- 
port from the prince, which certifies the liberty granted 
him, and the time of his return. He is furnished with a 
waggon, and a slave to drive and attend the oxen. Un- 
less there be women in the company, the waggon is sent 
back at the end of the journey as a useless incumbrance. 
They carry no provision with them for the road, yet want, 
nothing, being everywhere treated as if at home. 

If any one stay in a strange place longer than a day, he 
pursueth his proper occupation, and is very well used by 
his fellow tradesmen. But if he leave his own city without 
permission, and be found rambling without a passport, he 
is treated with severity, punished as a fugitive, and sent 
home in disgrace ; and if he commit the same offence again, 
he is condemned to slavery. If any one have a mind to 
travel merely over the district of his own city, he may free- 
ly do it, with his father's permission and his wife's consent. 
But, if he expect to be entertained at any of the country 
houses, he must labour with them and conform to their 
rules. And if he do this, he may freely traverse the whole 
district, being thus as useful to his city as if he was in it. 

Thus you see, there are no idle people among them, nor 
any pretences for excusing any individual from labour. 
They have no taverns, ale-houses, or brothels, nor any other 


mediums of corruption, of gathering in corners, or forming 
parties. All live in full view, and all are obliged to do 
their duty and employ well their leisure. And it is certain, 
that a nation thus regulated must enjoy great abundance of 
all things ; which being equally distributed, no one can 
want or be obliged to beg. 

At their great council at Amaurot (to which three from 
every town are sent yearly), they examine what towns 
abound in provisions, and in which is any scarcity ; that the 
one may be supplied from the other. And this is done 
without any exchange ; for according to their plenty or 
scarcity, they supply or are supplied, so that the whole 
island is, as it were, one family. 

When they have thus taken care of their country, and 
laid up store for two years (which they do to prevent the 
ill consequences of a bad season), they order an exporta- 
tion of the overplus of corn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax, 
tallow, leather, and cattle. These they commonly ship 
abroad in large quantities, and order a seventh to be given 
to the poor of those countries, and the rest to be sold at. 
moderate prices. By this mean, they not only import in- 
return the few things they want at home (for indeed they 
scarcely want any thing beside iron), but also a large quan- 
tity of gold and silver ; and it is hardly to be imagined how 
vast a treasure they have amassed, by driving this trade a 
long time. So that it is now almost indifferent to them 
whether they sell their goods for ready money or on credit. 


A great part of their property is in bonds ; but in their 
contracts, no individual is bound, but a whole town. These 
towns collect it from their individual debtors, lay it up in 
their public chamber, or enjoy the use of it till the Uto- 
pians call for it ; who prefer leaving the greater part of it 
in the hands of those who make advantage of it, to calling 
for it themselves. But if they see that any others stand 
more in need of it, they call it in and lend it to them. 

Whenever they engage in war, which is the only occa- 
sion on which this treasure can be usefully employed, they 
make use of it themselves. On great emergencies, or sud- 
den accidents, they employ it in hiring foreign troops ; 
whom they more willingly expose to danger than their own 
people. They pay these mercenaries extravagantly, well 
knowing; the effect it will have, even on their enemies ; that 
it will induce them to betray or desert, and is the best 
mean of raising mutual jealousies among them. With this 
view they keep an incredible treasure, which they value not 
as such, but place it in a light I am almost afraid of de- 
scribing ; for, had I not seen it myself, I could not have 
believed it. 

All things appear incredible to us, as they differ more or 
less from our own manners. Yet one who can judge aright 
will not wonder, that since their constitution diifercth so 
materially from ours, their value of gold and silver also, 
should be measured by a very different standard. Having 
no use for money among themselves, but keeping it as a 


provision against events which seldom happen, and between 
which are generally long intervals, they value it no farther 
than it deserves, that is, in proportion to its use. Thus it 
is plain, they must prefer iron to cither silver or gold. For 
avc want iron nearly as much as fire and water, but nature 
hath marked out no use so essential for the other metals, 
that they may not easily be dispensed with. Man's folly 
hath enhanced the value of gold and silver because of their 
scarcity ; whereas nature, like a kind parent, hath freely 
given us the best things, such as air, earth, and water, but 
hath hidden from us those which are vain and useless. 

Were these metals to be laid-up in a tower, it would give 
birth to that foolish mistrust into which the people are apt 
to fall, and create suspicion that the prince and senate de- 
signed to sacrifice the public interest to their own advant- 
age. Should they work them into vessels or other articles, 
they fear that the people might grow too fond of plate, 
and be unwilling to melt it again, if a war made it neces- 
sary. To prevent all these inconveniencies, they have fall- 
en upon a plan, which agrees with their other policy, but 
is very different from ours ; and which will hardly gain be- 
lief among us who value gold so much and lay it up so 

They eat and drink from earthen ware or glass, which 
make an agreeable appearance though they be of little value; 
while their chamber-pots and close-stools are made of gold 
and silver ; and this not only in their public halls, but in 


their private houses. Of the same metals they also make 
chains and fetters for their slaves ; on some of whom, as a 
badge of infamy, they hang an ear-ring of gold, and make 
others wear a chain or a coronet of the same metal. And 
thus they take care, by all possible means, to render gold 
and silver of no esteem. Hence it is, that while other coun- 
tries part with these metals as though one tore-out their 
bowels, the Utopians would look upon giving-in all they 
had of them, Avhen occasion required, as parting only with 
& trifle, or as we should esteem the loss of a penny. 

They find pearls on their coast, and diamonds and car- 
buncles on their rocks. They seek them not, but if they 
find them by chance, they polish them and give them to 
their children for ornaments, who delight in them during 
their childhood. But when they come to years of discre- 
tion, and see that none but children use such baubles, the}' 
lay them aside of their own accord ; and would be as much 
ashamed to use them afterward, as grown children among 
us would be of their toys. 

I never saw a more remarkable instance of the opposite 
impressions which different manners make on people, than 
I observed in the Ancmolian ambassadors, who came to 
Amaurot when I was there. Coming to treat of affairs of 
great consequence, the deputies from several cities met to 
await their coming. The ambassadors of countries lying 
near Utopia, knowing their manners,— that fine clothes are 
in no esteem with them, that silk is despised, and gold a 

UTOPIA. fcl 

badge of infamy, — came very modestly clothed. But the 
Anemolians, who lie at a greater distance, having had little 
intercourse with them, understanding they were coarsely 
clothed and all in one dress, took it for granted that they 
had none of that finery among them, of which they made 
no use. Being also themselves a vain-glorious rather than 
a wise people, they resolved on this occasion to assume 
their grandest appearance, and astonish the poor Utopians 
with their splendour. 

Thus three ambassadors made their entry with 100 at- 
tendants, all clad in garments of different colours, and the 
greater part in silk. The ambassadors themselves, who were 
of the nobility of their country, were in clothes of gold, 
adorned with massy chains and rings of gold. Their caps 
were covered with bracelets, thickly set with pearls and 
other gems. In a word, they were decorated in those very 
things, which, among the Utopians, are either badges of 
slavery, marks of infamy, or play-things for children. 

It was pleasant to behold, on one side, Iioav big they 
looked in comparing their rich habits with the plain clothes 
of the Utopians, who came out in great numbers to see 
them make their entry ; and on the other, how much they 
were mistaken in the impression which they expected this 
pomp would have made. The sight appeared so ridiculous 
to those who had not seen the customs of other countries, 
that, though they respected such as were meanly clad (as 
if they had been the ambassadors), when they saw the am- 

Vol.II. M 


bassadors themselves, covered with gold and chains, they 
looked upon them as slaves, and shewed them no respect. 
You might have heard children, who had thrown away 
their jewels, cry to their mothers, see that great fool, wear- 
ing pearls and gems as if he was yet a child ; and the mo- 
thers as innocently replying, peace, this must be one of the 
ambassador's fools^ 

Others censured the fashion of their chains, and observed, 
they were of no use. For their slaves could easily break 
them ; and they hung so loosely, that they thought it easy 
to throw them away. But when the ambassadors had been 
a day among them, and had seen the vast quantity of gold 
in their houses, as much despised by them as esteemed by 
others ; when they beheld more gold and silver in the chains 
and fetters of one slave, than in all their ornaments ; their 
crests fell, they were ashamed of their glory, and laid it 
aside ; a resolution Avhich they took, in consequence of en- 
gaging in free conversation with the Utopians, and dis- 
covering their sense of these things, and their other cus- 

The Utopians wonder that any man should be so ena- 
moured of the lustre of a jewel, when he can behold a star 
or the sun ; or that he should value himself upon his cloth 
being made of a finer thread. For, however fine this thread, 
it was once the fleece of a sheep, which remained a sheep 
notwithstanding it wore it. 


They marvel much to hear, that gold, in itself so use- 
less, should be everywhere so much sought, that even men, 
for whom it was made, and by them hath its value, should 
be less esteemed. That a stupid fellow, with no more sense 
than a log, and as base as he is foolish, should have many 
wise and good men to serve him because he possesseth a 
heap of it. And that, should an accident, or a law-quirk 
(which sometimes produceth as great changes as chance 
herself), pass this wealth from the master to his meanest 
slave, he would soon become the servant of the other, as 
if he was an appendage of his wealth, and bound to fol- 
low it. 

But they much more wonder at and detest the folly of 
those, who, when they see a rich man, though they owe 
him nothing, and are not in the least dependent on his 
bounty, are ready to pay him divine honours because he is 
rich ; even though they knoAv him at the same time to be 
so covetous and mean-spirited, that notwithstanding all his 
wealth, he will not part with one farthing of it to them as 
long as he liveth. 

These and the like notions hath this people imbibed, 
partly from education (being bred in a country whose laws 
and customs oppose such follies) and partly from their 
studies. For though there be few in any town, who are so 
wholly excused from labour, as to devote themselves en- 
tirely to study (these being such only as from their infancy 
discover an extraordinary capacity and disposition for let- 

M 2 


lers), yet their children, and many of their grown persons 
of both sexes, are taught to spend those hours in which 
they are not obliged to work in reading. And this they 
do through their lives. 

All their learning is in their own language, which is co- 
pious and pleasant, admitting of the fullest expression of 
ideas. It is spoken over a vast tract of country, but is 
not equally pure everywhere. They had not even heard 
the names of any of those philosophers who are so cele- 
brated in these parts of the world, before we went among 
them; yet they had made the same discoveries as the Greeks 
in music, logic, arithmetic, and geometry. 

Equal in almost every thing to the ancient philosophers, 
they greatly excel our modern logicians ; for t]jey have 
never yet fallen into those barbarous subtleties which youth 
are obliged to learn in our trifling logical schools. They 
nevertheless know astronomy, and have many excellent in- 
struments for ascertaining the course and position of the 
heavenly bodies. But as for divining by the stars, their 
oppositions or conjunctions, this liath never entered their 

They have particular skill, founded on much observa- 
tion, in judging of the weather ; and know when to expect 
rain, wind, or other changes. But as for the philosophy of 
these things, the saltness of the sea, its ebb G/d rlow, and 
the original and nature of the earth and heavens, ;hey dis- 


pute of them, partly in the manner of our ancient philo- 
sophers, and partly on new hypotheses ; in which they not 
only differ from them, but agree not entirely among them- 

In regard to moral philosophy, they have the same dis- 
putes as we have. They examine what is properly good for 
the body and mind, and whether any thing external can be 
called truly good, or if that term be appropriate to the soul. 
They inquire likewise into the nature of virtue and plea- 
sure. But their chief dispute is concerning man's happi- 
ness, and wherein it consists, whether in one thins: or in 
man}'. They incline indeed to the opinion which placeth, 
if not the whole, yet a great part of human happiness in 
pleasure ; and, what may seem more strange, they derive 
argument^ from religion, notwithstanding her restrictions, in 
support of that opinion. For they never dispute of hap- 
piness, without drawing arguments from the principles of 
religion, -as well as from natural reason ; esteeming all our 
inquiries after happiness but conjectural and defective with- 
out the former. 

Their religious tenets are these. The soul of man is im- 
mortal, — God of his goodness hath designed it should be 
happy ; he hath therefore appointed reward for virtue and 
punishment for vice, after this life. Though these princi- 
ples be handed down to them traditionally, they think rea- 
son herself di-'iermineth man to believe and acknowledge 
them ; and that, were they removed, no man would be so 


insensible as not to seek pleasure by all possible means-, 
lawful or otherwise ; taking eare only, that a less pleasure 
might not stand in the way of a greater, and that none 
ought to be pursued which should incur much pain. For 
they deem it the excess of madness to pursue virtue, a sour 
and difficult pursuit, and not only to renounce the plea- 
sures of life, but willingly to undergo much pain and 
trouble, without a prospect of reward. And what reward 
can there be for one who hath passed his life, not only 
without pleasure, but in pain, if there be no expectation 
after death ? 

Yet they place not happiness in every kind of pleasure, 
but in that only which is honest and good. One party 
among them placeth happiness barely in virtue ; another 
thinketh our nature is conducted by virtue to happiness, 
as man's chief good. They define virtue, living according- 
to nature, and think we are created for that end. They be- 
lieve man to follow nature when he followeth reason ; and 
say that the first dictate of reason is love and reverence for 
the Divine Majesty, to whom we owe all we have and all 
we can hope for. 

Secondly, reason directs us to keep our minds as free 
from passion, and as cheerful as we can; and that we 
should consider ourselves bound by the ties of good-nature 
and humanity, to use our utmost endeavours in promoting 
the happiness of others. For no one was ever so severe 
a pursuer of virtue and enemy to pleasure, that though he 


prescribed hard rules, pain, watchings, and other rigours, 
yet did not at the same time advise men to do all they 
could in relieving misery ; and who did not represent gentle- 
ness and good-nature as amiable dispositions. Hence they 
infer, that if man ought to advance the welfare and comfort 
of his fellow-creatures, since no virtue is more peculiar to 
our nature than to relieve the misery of others, and to fur- 
nish them with the comforts of life, in which pleasure con- 
sists, nature will more strongly incline him to do this for 

A life of pleasure is either a real evil (in which case we 
ought not to assist others in the pursuit of it, but deter 
them from it) ; or, if it be a good, so that we not only may, 
but ought to help others to it, why should not man begin 
with himself? No man can be bound to look more after 
the good of another than after his own ; for nature cannot 
direct us to be kind to others and at the same time cruel 
to ourselves. Thus, they define virtue to be, living accord- 
ing to nature, and imagine that nature prompts all to seek 
pleasure as the chief end of their actions. 

They also observe, that to support the pleasures of life, 
nature inclines us to society. For no man is so much raised 
above his fellows, as to be nature's only favourite ; on the 
contrary, she seems to have placed on a level all who be- 
long to one species. Hence they infer, that no one ought 
to seek his own convenience to the prejudice of others ; 
and therefore think, that not only all agreements between 


individuals ought to be observed, but likewise the laws 
which either a good prince hath publicly enacted, or to 
which a people, neither oppressed by tyranny, nor circum- 
vented by fraud, hath agreed, for rendering us the convenir 
encies of life in which our pleasures consist, 

They think it a proof of wisdom if man pursue his own. 
advantage as far as the law alloweth him. They also ac- 
count it piety to prefer the public good to individual in- 
terest ; but esteem it unjust for man to pursue his own,, 
pleasure to the detriment of that of his neighbour. On the 
contrary, they deem it a mark of a good and gentle soul,, 
if he dispense Avith his own advantage for the benefit o£ 
others ; and that, by this mean, a good man reapeth as 
much pleasure as he deprives himself of. For, he may exr- 
pect the like when he needeth it ; and should that fail, yet 
the sense of a good action, and his reflections on the love 
and gratitude of those he hath obliged, afford the mind 
greater pleasure than the body would have experienced in 
the enjoyment of that which it withstood. They are also 
persuaded that God will repay the loss of those small plea- 
sures with a vast and endless joy ; a circumstance of which- 
religion easily convinceth a good soul. 

Thus, on a general inquiry, they esteem all our actions, 
and even all our virtues, to terminate in pleasure, as in our 
chief end and greatest happiness ; and they call every mo- 
tion or state, either of body or mind, in which nature teach- 
eth us to delight, a pleasure. Thus they carefully limit 


pleasure to those appetites only to which nature leadcth ; 
for she leadeth* they say, to those delights only, to which 
sense as well as reason point, by which avc neither injure 
another, lose not greater pleasures, nor superinduce incon- 
veniencies. But they look upon those delights which 
men, by a foolish, though common mistake, call plea- 
sure (as if they could change the nature of things as easi- 
ly as terms), as greatly obstructing instead of advancing 
their real happiness. For these so entirely possess the 
minds once captivated by them with false notions of plea- 
sure, that no room is left for that of a truer and purer 

There are many things having nothing in themselves 
truly delightful, but on the contrary much bitterness, which 
yet, from our perverse appetites for forbidden objects, we 
not only rank among the pleasures, but make them the 
greatest designs of life. Among those who pursue these 
sophisticated pleasures, the Utopians reckon such as I men- 
tioned before, avIio imagine themselves really the better for 
having fine clothes. In this they think them doubly mis- 
taken, as well in the opinion they have of their clothes, as 
in that they have of themselves. For if you consider the 
use of clothes, why should a fine thread be thought better 
than a coarse one ? And yet these men, as if they enjoyed 
real advantages above others, and did not owe them to their 
mistakes, look big, seem to fancy themselves more valu- 
able, imagine a respect to be due them on account of a 
rich coat, to which they would not have pretended had 

Vol. II. N 


they been more meanly clad, and even resent it as an af- 
front if that respect be not shewn them. 

But it is not equal folly to be solicitous about outward 
marks of respect, which signify nothing? For what real 
pleasure can a man find in seeing another take off his hat 
and make bows to him ? Will the bending another's knee 
give ease to yours ; or the uncovering his head cure the 
madness of thine ? Nevertheless, it is wonderful to see how 
this false idea of pleasure bewitcheth many. How they 
delioht themselves with the fancy of their nobility* and are 
pleased with the conceit of having ancestors who have been 
deemed for some successions rich, — for this is all that at 
present constitutes nobility. Yet they consider not them- 
selves a whit the less noble, though their immediate parents 
bequeathed none of this wealth to them, or though them- 
selves have squandered it all. 

The Utopians have no better opinion of those who are 
enamoured of gems and precious stones, and who account 
it a degree of happiness almost divine if they can purchase 
a very extraordinary one, especially if it be of the sort then 
in fashion. For the same sort doth not alway bear the 
same value with them, and none are bought without being 
taken out of the setting. The jeweller is then required to 
find security, and to swear solemnly that the stone is a true 
one. Yet if you saw them, your eye could discover no 
difference between the counterfeit and the true j and there- 


fore the pleasure they afford you is the same, as much as if 
you were blind. 

Moreover, can it be thought that they who amass wealth, 
not for any service it is to do them, but to please them- 
selves with the contemplation of it, derive any true plea- 
sure from it ? The delight they find is a vain shadow of 
joy. Nor is the pleasure of those better, though their mis- 
take be somewhat different, who hide wealth for fear of 
losing it. For what other name than mistake, deserves the 
hiding it in the earth, or rather restoring it to earth again ; 
since it is thus cut off from being useful either to its owner 
or the rest of mankind ? And yet the owner, having hidden 
it carefully, rejoiceth because he thinks he is now sure of 
it. Should it be stolen, and he live ten years in ignorance 
of the theft, he would be no sufferer, for in either case it 
was equally useless to him. 

Among these foolish pursuers of pleasure also, they reckon 
all who delight in sporting or gaming ; of whose madness 
they have heard, but have no such persons among them. 
They inquired of us, what pleasure it was that men found 
in throwing dice ; for was there any, they think the fre- 
quent repetition of it would create a surfeit. What plea- 
sure, they likewise asked, can one find in hearing the bark- 
ing and howling of dogs, which seem odious rather than 
pleasant sounds ? Nor can they comprehend the pleasure 
of seeing a dog run after a hare, to be greater than that of 
seeing one dog run after another. For, if seeing them ruia 


92 SIR T. MOllE'S 

giveth the pleasure, you have the same entertainment in 
either case. But if the pleasure consist in seeing the hare 
torn by the dogs, it ought rather to excite pity, that a weak, 
harmless, timid hare, should be devoured by strong, fierce, 
and cruel dogs. 

On this account, all the business of hunting is, by the 
Utopians, transferred to their butchers, who, as hath been 
observed, are all slaves ; and they esteem hunting one of 
the basest of a butcher's employments. For they account 
it more profitable and becoming to kill the beasts which 
are more useful to man ; since the tearing so miserable an 
animal, can only attract the huntsman by a false shew of 
pleasure, from which he can reap little advantage. The. 
desire of shedding the blood even of beasts, they esteem 
the mark of a mind already corrupted with cruelty ; or at 
least, that the frequent returns of so brutal a pleasure, must 
degenerate into such a disposition. 

Thus, though the mass of mankind esteem these, and 
many other things of like nature, pleasures, the Utopians, 
seeing there is nothing in them truly pleasant, conclude 
they are not to be reckoned among pleasures. For though 
these things may afford the senses a degree of irritation 
(which appears to be a just idea of pleasure), yet they 
imagine this ariseth not from the thing itself, but from a 
depraved habit, which may so far vitiate taste, that bitter 
shall appear sweet. Thus pregnant women may imagine 
pitch or tallow to be sweeter than honey. But as the senses, 


though themselves corrupted by disease or bad habit, change 
not the nature of things, so neither can they change the 
nature of pleasure. 

The Utopians count many pleasures true ones, some of 
them bodily, others mental. Those of the mind, consist in 
knowledge, and in that delight which the contemplation of 
truth affords. To these they add the joyful reflections of 
a well spent life, and the assured hopes of happiness in a 
future state. 

Bodily pleasures, they divide into two kinds. One kind, 
is the pleasure afforded our senses by recruiting nature, as 
by eating and drinking ; or relieving her when she is sur- 
charged, oppressed, or in pain ; or gratifying the appetite 
which she hath implanted in us for her own end, the con- 
tinuation of our species. There is also another kind of 
pleasure, which ariseth neither from recruiting nor relieving 
nature, yet doth it, by a furtive virtue, affect the senses, 
raise the passions, and make generous impressions on the 
mind ; this is the pleasure arising from music. 

The other kind of bodily pleasure, is that arising from a 
vigorous consitution of body, in which life and spirit seem 
to invigorate every part. This high degree of health of it- 
self affordeth pleasure, independently of external objects 
of delight ; and though it may not so powerfully affect us, 
nor act so strongly on the senses as some of the others, it 
may be esteemed the greatest pleasure of all. Almost all 


the Utopians reckon it the foundation of all the other joys 
of life ; since it alone maketh life easy and desirable, and 
without it, man is in reality capable of no other pleasure. 

The} r look upon freedom from pain, if unaccompanied 
by perfect health, a state of dullness rather than of plea- 
sure. This subject hath been narrowly investigated among 
them, and it hath been questioned whether complete health 
could be called a pleasure or not. Some have thought that 
there was no pleasure which was not sensibly excited in 
the body. But this opinion hath been long ago exploded 
among the Utopians, so that now they almost universally 
agree, health is the greatest of all bodily pleasures. There 
being pain in sickness (which pain is as opposite in its na- 
ture to pleasure, as sickness itself is to health), they hold 
that health is accompanied by pleasure. Should any con- 
tend, that sickness is not in reality pain, but only carries 
pain with it, they esteem that a subtilty which little alter- 
eth the matter. 

It is the same thing in their opinion, whether it be said 
that health is in itself a pleasure, or that it begetteth a 
pleasure as fire giveth heat, provided it be granted, that 
all those whose health is entire have a true pleasure in the 
enjoyment of it. They reason thus. What is the pleasure 
of eating, but that a man's health, which had been weak- 
ened, doth, by the assistance of food, drive away hunger, 
and recruiting itself, rccovereth its vigour ; and being thus 
refreshed', it nndcth pleasure in the conflict. And if the 


conflict be pleasure, the victory must be still more so, un- 
less we imagine it becomes stupid so soon as it hath gained 
its object, and neither knowcth nor rejoiceth in its own wel- 
fare. If it be said, health cannot be felt, they absolutely 
deny this ; for what man in health doth not perceive he is 
so, whenever he is awake ? Is any man so dull, as not to 
acknowledge he feeleth delight in health ; and what is de- 
light but another name for pleasure ? 

But of all pleasures, they esteem those which proceed 
from the mind to be the most valuable ; the chief of which 
spring from virtue and the testimony of a good con- 

Health they account the chief pleasure appertaining to 
the body. For they think the pleasure of eating and drink- 
ing, and all other sensual delights, to be only so far de- 
sirable as they contribute to this ; nor otherwise pleasant 
in themselves, than as they resist the inroads of our na- 
tural infirmities. For, as a wise man desireth rather to 
avoid illness than take physic, and to be free from pain 
rather than find relief from remedies, so is it more desir- 
able not to need this kind of pleasure than be obliged to 
indulge it. 

*& v 

If any man imagine there to be a real happiness in these 
enjoyments, he must confess that he would be the happiest 
man living if he was perpetually hungry, thirsty, and itch- 
ing, and therefore perpetually eating, drinking, and scratch- 


ing ; which any one may easily perceive would be not on- 
ly a base but a miserable state of existence. These are in- 
deed the lowest pleasures and the least pure ; for we can 
never relish them but when mixed with the contrary pains. 
It is the pain of hunger must give us the pleasure of eat- 
ing, and as it is greater, so lasts it longer than the pleasure. 
For it begins before it, ceases only with the pleasure which 
extinguisheth it, and both expire together. 

They therefore think, that none of those pleasures are 
to be valued farther than as they are necessary. Yet they 
rejoice in them, and gratefully acknowledge the tenderness 
of the great Author of Nature, who hath given us appe- 
tites, which make the things necessary for our preservation 
also agreeable to us. How miserable would life be, if the 
daily complaints of hunger and thirst must be relieved by 
such bitter drugs, as we must use for those disorders which 
come seldomer upon us! But as it is, these pleasant as well 
as proper gifts of nature, preserve the strength and spright- 
liness of our bodies. 

They also delight in the pleasures of sight, hearing, and 
smell, as the agreeable relishes and seasonings of life, which 
nature seems to have marked out peculiarly for man. For 
no other animal contemplates the figure and beauty of the 
universe, is delighted Avith smells farther than as they dis- 
tinguish meats, or apprehendcth the concord and discord 
of sounds. Yet in all pleasures whatever, they take care 
that a less one shall not prevent a greater, and that pleasure 


shall never breed pain ; Avhicli last they think ever followeth 
dishonest pleasures. 

They esteem it madness in man to wear-out the beauty 
of his face, or his natural strength, to corrupt his body by 
sloth and laziness, or waste it by fasting, to weaken the 
strength of his constitution, and reject the other delights of 
life, unless, by renouncing his own satisfaction, he can 
either serve the public or promote the happiness of others, 
for which he expecteth a greater recompence from God. 
Thus, they look on such a course of life, as the mark of a 
mind cruel to itself and ungrateful to the Author of Na- 
ture; as if we would not be indebted to him for his favours, 
and therefore reject his blessings ; as if we would afflict 
ourselves for the mere empty show of virtue, or for no bet- 
ter end than to render ourselves capable of bearing those 
misfortunes which perhaps may never happen. 

These arc their notions of virtue and pleasure ; and they 
think no man's reason can lead him to a truer idea of them, 
unless he be inspired. I have not leisure at present to ex- 
amine whether they be right or wrong, nor is this incum- 
bent upon me, having only undertaken to describe their 
constitution to you, and not to defend all their principles. 
Of this I am certain, — whatever be said of their notions, 
there exists not in the world a better people or a happier 

Their bodies are vigorous and lively. Though they be 
Vol. II. O 


but of a middle stature, and have neither the fruitfulest 
soil nor the purest air in the world, they fortify themselves 
so well by their temperate lives against the unhealthiness 
of the air, and by their industry so cultivate their soil, that 
you shall nowhere see a greater increase both of corn and 
cattle. Nor are there anywhere healthier men. You may 
there see practised, not only all the husbandman's art of 
manuring and improving a bad soil, but whole woods torn 
up by the roots, and in other places- new ones planted ; that 
their timber may be near their towns, or near water to float 
it, the carriage of wood overland being more laborious than 
that of corn. 

They are industrious, apt scholars, and cheerful ami 
pleasant companions. None can endure more labour when 
it is necessary, but unless that be the case they love ease. 
Their pursuit of knowledge is indefatigable. When we had 
given them some hints of the learning and discipline of the 
Greeks (of whom alone we instructed them, for we knew 
there was nothing among the Romans, except their histo- 
rians and poets, that they would much esteem), it was 
strange to see with what avidity they set about learning 
that language. We read a little of it to them, rather in 
compliance with their importunity, than from any hope of 
their reaping much advantage by it. But after a very short 
trial, we found they made such progress, that our labour 
was likely to be much more successful than we could have 
expected. They learned to write the character and pro- 
nounce the language so well, had such quick apprehensions 


and faithful memories, and became so ready and correct in 
the use of it, that it would have been miraculous, had not 
the greater part of those we taught been men of extraordi- 
nary capacity, and of a proper age for instruction. They 
were most of them selected among the learned men, by 
their chief council ; though some learned it of their own 
accord. In three years they became masters of the lan- 
guage, and could read the best Greek authors. 

Indeed, I am inclined to think they learned the language 
more easily, from its having some analogy to their own. 
For I believe they were a colony of Greeks ; and though 
their language more nearly resemble the Persian, they re- 
tain many names, both for their towns and magistrates, 
which are of Greek derivation. I happened to take out a 
large number of books, instead of merchandize, when I 
made my fourth voyage. For, so far from expecting to re- 
turn so soon, I rather thought I should never return ; and 
I gave them all my books, among which were many of 
Plato's and some of Aristotle's works. I had also Theo- 
phrastus on plants, which to my great regret was imper- 
fect; for, having allowed it to lay-about while we were at 
sea, a monkey had found it and torn out many of the 
leaves. They have no grammarians, except Lascares, as I 
brought not Theodoras with me ; and no dictionaries ex- 
cept Hesychius and Dioscorides. They highly esteem Plu- 
tarch, and were much taken with Lucian's wit, and his 
pleasant way of writing. Of the poets, they have Aristo- 
phanes, Homer, Euripides, and the Aldine edition of So- 

O 2 

300 SIR T. MORE'S 

phocles ; and of historians, Thucydides, Herodotus, and 

My companion, Apinatus, happened to take with him 
some of Hippocrates' works, and Galen's Microtechne, 
which they hold in high esteem ; for though no nation on 
earth needeth physic less than they do, j r et none honour- 
eth it more. They reckon this knowledge one of the plea- 
santest and most profitable parts of philosophy ; as it search- 
eth the secrets of nature, is highly agreeable in the pur- 
suit, and probably acceptable to the Author of our being. 
Who (like the ingenious mechanic among men) having ex- 
posed this grand machine of the universe, to the view of 
the only creature capable of contemplating it, they imagine 
that an exact and curious observer who admireth his work, 
is far more acceptable to him than one of the herd, who, 
like a beast incapable of reason, looketh on this glorious 
scene with the eyes of a dull and unconcerned spectator. 

Their minds thus filled with a love of learning, they are 
very ingenious in the discovery of all those arts which are 
necessary to its promotion. Two of these they owe to us> 
the manufacture of paper, and the art of printing. Yet 
are they not so entirely indebted to us for these discoveries, 
but that a great part of the invention was their own. We 
shewed them some books printed by Aldus, and explained 
to them the process of paper-making and printing] but 
having never practised these arts ourselves, we described 
them very superficially. They seized the hints we gave 

UT0PL1. 101 

them ; and though they could not immediately arrive at 
perfection, yet by repeated essays they discovered and 
corrected all their errors, and conquered every difficulty. 
Formerly they wrote only on parchment, reeds, or the bark 
of trees. Now they have established paper-manufactures 
and printing-presses ; and, had they but a good number of 
Greek authors, they would quickly be supplied with many 
copies of them. At present they have only those I men- 
tioned, yet have they, by repeated impressions, multiplied 
them to many thousand. 

If any man went thither who professed some extraordi- 
nary talent, or who by much travelling had observed the 
customs of many countries (which gained us so good a re- 
ception), he would have a hearty welcome.; for they are 
very desirous of knowing the state of the whole world. 
Few go among them to trade, for what can they bring them 
except iron, gold, or silver, which merchants like to keep 
at home. Their exportation they prefer managing them- 
selves, to leaving it to foreigners ; for by this mean they 
better understand the state of foreign markets and keep up 
a knowledge of navigation, which is not maintained with- 
out much practice. 

They make no slaves of prisoners of war, except of those 
who are taken in battle ; nor of the sons of their own 
slaves, or of those of other countries. Their slaves are such 
only, as are condemned to that state for some crime ; or 
(which is more common) such as their merchants find con- 


demned to death in countries whither they trade, whom 
they often ransom at low rates, and sometimes obtain them 
gratis. They are employed in perpetual labour, and are 
ever chained. Their natives are treated much more severe- 
ly than others, being considered as more profligate than 
the rest ; and, since the advantages of so excellent an edu- 
cation were insufficient, they are judged worthy of harder 

Another kind of slaves, are the poor of neighbouring coun- 
tries, who offer spontaneously to serve them. They treat 
these better ; and use them in every respect as well as their 
own countrymen, except that they impose more labour up- 
on them, which is no hardship to those who have been ac- 
customed to it. And if any of them desire to return to 
their own country (which indeed seldom happeneth) they 
neither force them to stay nor send them away empty- 

I have already related to you with what care they look 
after their sick, so that nothing is left undone which may 
contribute either to their health or ease. And as for those 
who are afflicted with incurable disorders, they use all pos- 
sible means of cherishing them, and of making their lives 
as comfortable as possible ; they visit them often, and take 
great pains to make their time pass easily. But if any 
have torturing, lingering pain, without hope of recovery 
or ease, the priests and magistrates repair to them and ex- 
hort them, since they are unable to proceed with the busi- 


©ess. of life, arc become a burden to themselves and all 
about them, and have in reality outlived themselves, they 
should no longer cherish a rooted disease, but choose to 
die since they cannot live but in great misery ; being per- 
suaded, if they thus deliver themselves from torture, or al- 
low others to do it, they shall be happy after death. Since 
they forfeit none of the pleasures, but only the troubles of 
life by this, they think they not only act reasonably, but 
consistently with religion; for they follow the advice of their 
priests, the expounders of God's will. 

Those who are wrought upon by these persuasions, either 
starve themselves or take laudanum. But no one is com- 
pelled to end his life thus ; and if they cannot be persuad- 
ed to it, the former care and attendance on them is conti- 
nued. And though they esteem a voluntary death, when 
chosen on such authority, to be very honourable, on the 
contrary, if any one commit suicide without the concur- 
rence of the priests and senate, they honour not the body 
with a decent funeral, but throw it into a ditch. 

Their women are not allowed to marry before eighteen, 
and their men not before twenty-two. If any of them be 
guilty of unlawful intercourse before marriage, they are se- 
verely punished, and they are not allowed to marry unless 
they can obtain an especial warrant from the prince. Such 
disorderly conduct, also bringeth a severe reproach on the 
master and mistress of the family in which it happened ; 
for it is concluded that they have been negligent in their. 

104 SIR T. MORE'S 

duty. Their reason for punishing this so severely is, be- 
cause they think, were they not strictly restrained from all 
vagrant appetites, very few would engage in a state, in 
which they hazard the peace of their whole lives by being 
tied to one person, and are obliged to endure all the incon- 
veniencies with which that state is accompanied. 

In matching, they adopt a plan which appears to us 
very extravagant, yet is constantly observed among them 
and accounted very wise. Before marriage, a grave ma- 
tron presenteth the bride (be she virgin or widow) naked, 
to the bridegroom ; and after that, some grave man pre- 
senteth the bridegroom naked to the bride. We laughed 
at this, and condemned it as very indecent. They, on the 
other hand, wondered at the folly of mankind in all other 
countries ; who, if they buy but an inferior horse, examine 
him all over and take off his trappings ; yet a wife, on 
whom dependeth the happiness of the remainder of life, 
they take upon trust, regarding only her face, and leaving 
the rest of her body covered, where contagious and loath- 
some disorders may lie concealed. All men are not so wise 
as to choose a woman only for her good qualities ; and even 
-the wise consider the body as adding not a little to the 
mind. It is certain the clothes may conceal some deformi- 
ty which may alienate a man from his wife when it is too 
late to part with her. If such a thing be discovered after 
marriage, he hath no remedy but patience. They there- 
fore think it reasonable, that good care should be taken to 
guard against such mischievous deception. 


There was the move reason for this regulation among 

them, because they arc the only people, of those parts who 
allow not polygamy or divorce, except in case of adultery 
or insufferable perverseness. In these cases the senate di^-- 
solveth the marriage, and granteth the injured leave to 
marry again ; but the guilty are made infamous and never 
allowed the privilege of a second marriage. No one is 
suffered to put away his wife against her inclination, on 
account of any misfortune Avhich may have befallen her 
person. They esteem it the height of cruelty and treachery 
to abandon either of the married pair, when they most 
need the tenderness of their partner ; especially in the case 
of old age, which bringeth many diseases with it, and is 
itself a disease. But it often happens, that, Avhen a mar- 
ried pair do not agree, they separate by mutual consent, 
and find others with whom they hope to live more happily. 
Yet this is not done without leave from the senate, which 
never alloweth a divorce without a strict inquiry, by the 
senators and their wives, into the grounds on which it is de- 
sired. Even when they are satisfied as to the reasons of it, 
the matter proceedeth but slowly, for they are persuaded 
that a too ready permission of new marriages, would great- 
ly impair the kind intercourse of the married. 

They severely punish those who defile the marriage-bed. 
If both the offenders be married, they are divorced, and 
the injured may intermarry, or with whom else they please ; 
but the adulterer and adultress are condemned to slavery. 
Yet if the injured cannot conquer the love of the offender, 

Vol. II. P 

]06 SIR T. MORE'S 

they may still live together, the partner following to the 
labour to which the slave is condemned ; and sometimes 
the repentance of the condemned, and the unaltered kind- 
ness of the injured, have prevailed with the prince to take 
off the sentence. But who relapse after they are once par- 
doned, are punished with death. 

Their law determineth not the punishment of other crimes, 
it being left to the senate to fix it according to the circum- 
stances of the case. Husbands are allowed to correct their 
wives, and parents their children, unless the offence be so 
great that public punishment is thought necessary for the 
sake of example. Slavery is generally the punishment, 
even of the greatest crimes ; for it is no less terrible to the 
criminals than death, and they deem the preservation of 
them in servitude to be more for the interest of the state 
than killing them. Their labour is more beneficial to the 
public than their death could be ; and the sight of their 
misery is a more lasting terjor to others, than that of their 

If then slaves will not bear their yoke nor submit to the 
labour prescribed them, but rebel, they are treated as wild 
beasts, not to be kept in order by a prison or chains ; and 
are at last put to death. But those who bear their punish- 
ment patiently, and appear to be more troubled by their 
crimes than their sufferings, are not without hope that in 
the end, either the prince by his prerogative, or the people 

UTOPIA. 107 

by their intercession, will restore them to liberty, or at least 
greatly mitigate their slavery. 

Who tempts a woman to adultery is no less severely 
punished than he who commits the crime. They deem a 
deliberate design to commit a crime equal to the actual 
perpetration of it ; since its not taking effect diminisheth 
not the guilt of him who miscarried in his attempt. 

They take great pleasure in fools. It is esteemed base 
and unbecoming to use them ill, and they think it not amiss 
for people to divert themselves with their folly, and that it 
is an advantage to the fools. For were men so morose and 
severe as not to be at all amused with their ridiculous be- 
haviour and foolish sayings (which is all they can do to re- 
commend themselves to others), it could not be expected 
that they would be so well provided for, nor so tenderly. 
used, as otherwise. 

Should any man reproach another for being- mishapen, 01 
imperfect in any part of his body, it would be thought no 
reflection on the person so treated, but scandalous in him 
who had upbraided another with what he could not pre- 

It is thought a mark of a sluggish and sordid mind, not 
to preserve natural beauty with care ; but it is infamous 
among them to paint. They all see that no beauty recom- 
mendeth a wife to her husband so strongly as her probity 

P 2 


and obedience ; few only are attracted by beauty, but the 
other excellencies charm the whole world. 

As they terrify from the commission of crimes, by pu- 
nishments, they invite to the practice of virtue by public 
honours. They erect statues in their market-places to the 
memory of such as have deserved well of their country, to 
perpetuate the remembrance of their actions, and be an in- 
citement to posterity to follow their example. 

If a man aspire ambitiously to any office, he loseth it 
for certain. They live in loving intercourse with each other, 
the magistrates never behaving either insolently or cruelly 
to the people. They affect rather to be called fathers, and 
by really being such, well merit the appellation. The 
people pay them all marks of honour, the more freely be- 
cause none are exacted from them. The prince himself 
hath no distinction either of garments or a crown ; a sheaf 
of corn only is carried before him, and a wax-light before 
the high-priest. 

They have few laws, and such is their constitution, they 
require not many. They much condemn other countries, 
whose laws, with the commentaries on them, swell so many 
volumes ; esteeming it unreasonable to oblige men to obey 
a body of laws so large and intricate, as not to be read and 
understood by every subject. 

They have no lawyers among them. For they esteem 


them a class, whose profession it is to disguise matters, and 
to writhe the laws. Therefore they think it much better 
th it every man should plead his own cause, and trust it to 
the judge, as elsewhere the client trusteth it to his coun- 
sellor. By this plan they avoid many delays, and find out 
the truth with more certainty. For after the parties have 
opened the merits of the cause without the artifices of law- 
yers, the judge examines the matter and supports the sim- 
plicity of those well-meaning persons whom otherwise the 
crafty would run down. And thus they avoid those evils 
which appear so remarkable in those countries which labour 
under a vast load of laws. 

Every one of them is skilled in their law. It is a very 
short study, and the plainest meaning of which words are 
capable, is ever the sense of it. They argue thus. All 
laws are promulgated that every man may know his duty. 
Therefore the plainest construction of words is, what ought 
to be put upon them. A more refined exposition could not 
easily be comprehended, and would only make the laws 
useless to the greater part of mankind, especialhy to those 
who most need the guidance of them. It is the same thing, 
whether you make no law at all, or couch it in terms of 
which, without a quick apprehension and much study, men 
cannot find out the true meaning ; for the generality of 
mankind are so dull and so busied in their avocations, that 
they have neither the leisure nor capacity requisite for such 
an inquiry. 


Some of their neighbours, who long ago, b} T the assistance 
of the Utopians, shook oft' the yoke of tyranny, being 
struck with the virtue they observed among them, have 
come to desire magistrates of them, some changing them 
yearly, others every five years. When they change them, 
i t is with strong expressions of honour and esteem ; and 
in this they seem to have hit upon a very good expedient 
for their own happiness and safety. Since the good or ill 
condition of a country dependeth so much on its magis- 
trates, they could not have made a better choice than men 
whom no advantages can bias. Wealth is of no use to 
them, who must so soon return to their own country; and 
being strangers among them, no party interests can agitate 
them. When public judicatories are swayed by avarice 
or partiality, justice, the grand sinew of society, is lost, 

The Utopians call those who ask magistrates from them, 
neighbours ; but those to whom they have rendered more 
particular services, friends. While all other nations are per- 
petually making and breaking leagues, they never enter in- 
to alliance with any state. They think leagues useless, and 
believe, that if the common ties of humanity knit men not 
together, the faith of promises will have little effect. They 
are the more confirmed in this by what they see of the na- 
tions around them, who are no strict observers of leagues 
;ind treaties. 

We know how religiously they are observed in Europe. 
Where the christian doctrine is received, they are particu- 


jarly sacred and inviolable. This is partly owing to the jus- 
tice and goodness of the princes themselves, and partly to 
the reverence they pay the popes. Who, being most reli- 
gious observers of their own promises, exhort all other 
princes to perform theirs ; and when gentler methods pre- 
vail not, they compel them to it by the severity of the pas- 
toral censure ; thinking it would be the height of indecency, 
if men distinguished by the title, the faithful, should not 
religiously observe the faith of treaties. 

But in that new-found world, which is not less distant 
from us in point of situation than in the manners of its in- 
habitants, there is no relying on leagues though they were 
made with all the pomp of the most sacred ceremonies. 
On the contrary, they are on this account the sooner broken. 
Some slight pretence is found in the words of the treaty 
(purposely couched in such ambiguous terms, as never so 
strictly to bind but that a loop-hole remains), and thus they 
break both their leagues and their faith. This is practised 
with such impudence, that those very men who pride them- 
selves in having suggested such expedients to their princes, 
would declaim scornfully against such craft, or (to speak 
plainer) such fraud and deceit, if they found individuals 
practising it in their bargains ; and would not scruple to 
say, they deserve to be hanged. 

Thus it is that justice passeth for a low-spirited and vul- 
gar virtue, far beneath the dignity of royal greatness ; or 
at least there are two kinds of it. The one is mean and 


becomes only the lower orders, therefore must be restrain- 
ed that it break not its proper bounds. The other is the 
virtue of princes, which is more majestic than that which 
becomes the rabble, therefore takes a freer range; and law- 
ful and unlawful are measured only by pleasure and in- 
terest. These practices of their neighbouring princes, who 
make so little account of then faith, Seem to have deter- 
mined the Utopians to engage in no confederacies. Per- 
haps they would change their minds if they lived among 

Yet though treaties were more religiously observed, they 
would dislike the practice of making them, because the 
world proceedeth therein on a false maxim, — as if there 
was no natural tie between two nations, perhaps separated 
only by a mountain or a river, and that all were born in a 
state of hostility, and might lawfully do all the mischief to 
their neighbours, against which there is no provision made 
by treaties ; and that when treaties are made, they cut not 
off the enmity, or restrain the licence of preying on each 
other, if from want of skill in expressing them, no effectual 
proviso be made ! They, on the contrary, maintain, that 
no man is to be esteemed our enemy who hath never in- 
jured us ; that the partnership of human nature is instead 
of a league, and that kindness and good nature unite men 
more strongly than any compact whatever, since the en- 
gagements of the heart are stronger than the obligation of 


They detest war, as brutal, and which, to the reproach 
of human nature, is more practised by man than by any 
beast, In opposition to the sentiment of almost every other 
country, they think nothing more inglorious than the glory 
gained by war. Therefore, though they accustom them- 
selves daily to military exercises and discipline, in which 
also their women are trained (that in cases of need they 
may not be quite useless), yet engage they not rashly in 
war ; but only to defend themselves or their friends from 
aggression, or to assist the oppressed in shaking off the. 
yoke of tyranny, They help their friends in offensive as 
well as defensive wars ; but never without having been con- 
sulted before the breach was made, being satisfied as to the 
grounds, and finding every effort of accommodation vain. 

They think war just, when a nation encroaches on the 
territory of its neighbour by public authority and bears 
away spoil ; or when merchants are oppressed in a strange 
country, under pretence of unjust laws, or by the distortion 
pf good ones, The latter they reckon the juster cause, be- 
cause injury is done under the semblance of Jaw, This was 
the sole ground of the war in which they engaged with the 
Nephelogetes against the Alaopohtans, a little before our 
time, The merchants of the former, having, as they thought, 
experienced great injustice among the latter, it produced a 
terrible war, in which many neighbouring states were en- 
gaged, By their inveteracy and power, they shook some 
v^ery flourishing states, and greatly distressed others ; and 
nfier a series of much mischief, the Alaopohtans, greatly 

Vox 11 q 

11-t SIR T. MORE'S 

superior before the war to their enemies, were subdued 
and enslaved. But though the Utopians assisted the Ne- 
phelogetes in the war, they pretended to no share of the. 

Though they assist, with such alacrity and vigour, their 
friends, in redressing the injuries they have received of thi* 
nature ; if such offences were committed against them- 
selves, provided no violence was offered to their persons, 
the only resentment they would shew on being refused sa- 
tisfaction, would be to avoid trading with the offenders. 
This is not because they consider their neighbours as of 
more consequence than their own citizens. But, since their 
neighbours trade every one with his own capital, fraud is 
a more sensible injury to them than to the Utopians, with 
whom the public only suffers in such a case. 

As they expect nothing in return for the merchandize 
they export, but what they abound in and is of little use 
to them, the loss little affects them. They tliink therefore 
it would be too severe, to revenge a loss attended with so 
little inconvenience to their lives or their subsistence, with 
the death of many. But if any of their people be either 
killed or wounded undeservedly, whether it be done by 
public authority or by individuals, as soon as they hear of 
it, they send ambassadors and demand that the offenders 
be given up. If this be denied, they declare war ; but if 
complied with, the guilty are condemned to death or 

UTOPIA. 115 

They would be ashamed of a bloody victory over their 
enemies, thinking it would be as foolish a purchase as the 
costliest effects at a very exorbitant price. In none do they 
glory so much, as in that which is gained by skill and con- 
duct without bloodshed. In such cases they appoint pub- 
lic triumphs and erect trophies, in honour of the success- 
ful. For then do they esteem man to act suitably to his 
nature, when he conquereth his enemy, as no creature but 
man could conquer — by his understanding. Bears, lions, 
boars, wolves, dogs, and all other animals, use their bodily 
strength against each other. In this and in ferocity, many 
of them excel man, — but all are subdued by his reason. 

Their only design in war is, to obtain that by force, which, 
had it been conceded to them in time, would have prevent- 
ed the war ; or, if this cannot be accomplished, so severe- 
ly to reprimand those who have injured them, that they 
may be deterred from a repetition of their conduct. It is 
palpable that fame or vain glory are not their objects, but 
a just regard to their own security. 

As soon as they declare war, they cause a number of 
hand-bills, sealed with their seal, to be displayed in the 
most conspicuous parts of their enemies' country. They 
are secretly conveyed and produced in many places at the 
same time, In these they offer great rewards to such as 
shall kill the prince, and proportional ones in regard to 
other instigators of the war ; doubling the sum if they be 
delivered alive into their hands, and offering not only in,- 

Q 2 

116 MR T. MORE'S 

demnity, but rewards to such of the marked persons as 
will act against their country. Thus the persons named, 
become not only distrustful of their fellow-citizens, but 
jealous of each other, and distracted between fear and 
danger. For it hath frequently occurred, that many of them, 
and even the prince himself, have been betrayed by those 
they most trusted. 

These rewards offered by the Utopians are so immense, 
that there is no crime to which men cannot be induced by 
them. They consider the risk which those run who under- 
take such services, and recompence them in proportion to 
the danger, — offering not only vast treasures of gold, but 
large estates in other countries in amity with them, which 
they may enjoy in great security. And they observe most 
religiously the promises they make of this nature. 

They greatly approve this mode of corrupting their ene- 
mies, though others think it base and cruel. They deem it 
a wise course, for ending, what might otherwise be a tedi- 
ous war, without hazarding a battle. They think it also 
an act of mercy and love to mankind, to prevent, by the 
death of a few of the most guilty, the great slaughter on 
either side which must otherwise ensue in the war; and that 
by so doing, they are kind even to their enemies, and com- 
miserate them no less than themselves ; well knowing, that 
most of them engage not in the war of their own accord, 
but are driven into it by the passions of their prince. 

UTOPIA. 117 

If this method succeed not, they sow contention among 
their enemies, and endeavour to animate the prince's bro- 
ther or some of the nobility to aspire to the crown. And 
if they cannot disunite them by domestic broils, they en- 
gage their neighbours against them, making them renew 
some antiquated pretension or other, which are never want- 
ing to princes when they have occasion for them. These 
they supply plentifully with money, though but very spar- 
ingly with troops ; for they would not willingly exchange 
one of their own subjects for even the prince of their ene- 
my's country. Keeping their gold and silver for such an 
occasion only, when it offers itself, they freely part witli it, 
since it would be no inconvenience to them did they re- 
serve none for themselves ; for beside their wealth at home 
they have a vast treasure abroad, many nations around 
them being deeply in their debt. They thereipre hire sol- 
diers everywhere for carrying on their wars* but chiefly 
among the Zapolets, 500 miles eastward of Utopia. 

This is a rude and fierce people, delighting in the woods 
and rocks among which they were born and bred. Proof 
against heat, cold, and labour, and ignorant of the deli- 
cacies of life, they devote not their attention to agricul- 
ture, and are indifferent as to their clothing and habitation. 
Cattle is their only regard. Hunting and rapine chiefly 
supply their wants, and they may be called the very soul 
of war. They watch every opportunity of engaging in it, 
and eagerly embrace such as present themselves. Numbers 
of them frequently go forth, and offer themselves on very 

118 SIR T. MORE'S 

low pay to such as will employ them. They know no art of 
life but what tends to its destruction. They serve with great 
courage and fidelity, but will not engage themselves for any 
fixed time. 

Their agreements are so made, that they may go over to 
the enemy the following day if they offer them more pay ; 
and they will perhaps return the day after at a still higher 
advance. There are few wars in which they constitute not 
a main force on either side. Thus it often happens that re- 
lations and friends kill one another, being hired for a little 
money by princes of different interests ; and such regard 
have they for money, that they are easily wrought upon by 
the difference of a penny a-day to change sides. Yet this 
very money is of little use to them ; for, what they thus buy 
with their blood, they soon afterward waste in luxury, which, 
with them, is of a miserable kind. 

These people are ready to serve the Utopians against 
any other nation, for they pay higher than any. And, the 
maxim of the Utopians being, to seek the best men for 
home, and to use the worst for the carnage of war, they 
hire these, by the offer of great rewards, to expose them- 
selves to every hazard, from which most of them return 
not, to claim the rewards. Yet they fulfil their engage- 
ments most religiously to such as escape, which animates 
them to adventuring anew, whenever occasion requires. 
And the Utopians are not at all concerned at the number 
svhich falls ; esteeming it a service to mankind to deliver 

UTOPIA. 119 

them from such a vile and abominable race, the very sink 
of humanity. 

Beside these, they are served in their Avars by the per- 
sons on whose account they undertake them, and by auxi- 
liaries from their other friends ; adding a few of their own 
people, and sending a commander-in-chief of approved 
valour. Two are sent with him, who are only privates dur- 
ing his command. But should he be killed or taken, the 
first succeeds him ; and if the misfortune recur, the third 
takes the command. This provision is made, that such 
accidents as befal their generals may not endanger their 

When they draw-out troops of their own, they take such 
from every city as offer themselves voluntarily, using no 
compulsion ; for they think if any man be impressed who 
wanteth courage, he will not only be ineffective, but his 
cowardice may dishearten others. If, however, their coun- 
try be invaded, they use such men, if they be strong, though 
not brave. They either send them aboard their ships or 
plant them on their town-walls, that they may not fly ; and 
shame, the heat of action, or impossibility of escape bear- 
ing down their fear, they often make a virtue of necessity 
and behave well. 

Forcing no man to engage in a foreign war against his 
will, they prevent not those women who are willing to ac- 
company their husbands, but encourage and applaud them ; 


and they often stand nearest their husbands in the front of 
the battle. They also place together parents and children, 
kindred, and allies ; that those who have by nature the 
strongest ties for assisting each other, may be nearest and 
readiest to do so. It is matter of reproach among them if 
husband or wife survive each other, or the child its parent j 
they therefore fight to the last while a foe opposes them. 

Although they adopt every prudent mean of avoiding 
to hazard their own men, and of devolving the danger on 
their mercenaries, yet if it become necessary for themselves 
to engage, they charge with as much courage as they be-* 
fore avoided action with prudence, Nor is it merely a 
fierce onset, but increases by degrees > and as they continue 
in action they grow more obstinate and press harder on the 
enemy, insomuch that they will rather perish than give 
ground, For the certainty which they fee), that their child-, 
ren will be well taken care of when they are dead, relieves 
them from the anxiety which often overcomes men of couiv 
age in the hour of battle, and the resolution which animate* 
thera is noble and invincible, 

Their skill in military affairs increases, their courage, and 
the sentiments instilled in their minds in youth according 
to the laws of their country, give them additional vigom 
They neither undervalue life so as to throw it away prodi* 
gaily, nor air they so indecently fond Qf it as to preserve; 
it by base and uiibccoinirig nu -ana. In tho heat of action, 
the l>!ii\ < -< .of their youth sin^le T Qut \\\c enemy's genera!. 


UTOPIA. i2i 

set on him openly or in ambuscade, pursue him cveiy- 
where, and when exhausted are relieved by others who 
never cease from the pursuit; attacking him hand to hand, 
or with missile weapons, as the occasion requires, and with 
such determination, that unless he secure himself by flight, 
they seldom fail at last to kill or take him prisoner. 

When they have gained a victory, they kill as few as 
possible, being much more bent on taking many prisoners 
than on destroying those who fly before them. Nor do 
they ever allow their men to pursue the enemy, without 
preserving one battalion entire ; so that, had they been 
compelled to engage the last of them to gain the day, trier 
would rather let the enemy all escape, then pursue them 
when their own army was in disorder. They well remem- 
ber what hath often befallen themselves. When their main 
body hath been broken, and the enemy, imagining the 
victory obtained, hath irregularly pursued, a reserve of 
them, falling on their disordered chase, hath turned the 
fortune of the day and wrested a victory from them which 
they thought certain. 

It is difficult to say whether they be more expert in pre- 
paring or escaping ambush. Sometimes they appear to fly 
when it is far from their design ; and when they intend to 
give ground, it is very difficult to discover their purpose. 
Be they ill-posted, or likely to be overpowered by num- 
bers, they silently march off in the night, or delude the 
enemy by stratagem. Retire they by day, it is in such or- 

Vol. II. R 

122 SIR T. MORE'S 

der, that it would be no less dangerous to attack them in 
retreat than on march. 

They fortify their camp with a large deep trench, ant!, 
throw-up the earth for a wall. Not their slaves alone, but 
the whole army works at it, save those who are upon guard. 
Thus a great line and a strong fortification are finished in 
a time scarcely credible. Their armour is very strong, yet 
light for marching, so that they can even swim in it, which 
art, all who are trained to war practise. Horse as well as 
foot make frequent use of arrows, and are very expert with 
them. They have no swords, but fight with a poll-ax which is 
sharp and heavy, and with which they thrust-at or strike- 
down their enemy. They are very clever at inventing war- 
like engines, and disguise them so well, that the enemy 
feels before he perceives the use of them, and cannot guard 
against their design. Their chief consideration in them is, 
that they may be carried and managed with ease. 

If they make a truce, they observe it so religiously, that 
no provocations will induce them to break it. They never 
lay-waste their enemies' country, nor burn their corn ; and 
in their very march take all possible care that neither horse 
nor foot may trample it, for they know not but they may 
want it themselves. They hurt no man whom they find 
disarmed, except he be a spy. When a town surrenders, 
they take it into their protection. When they carry a place 
by storm, they never plunder it, but put those only to the 
sword who opposed the surrender of it, and make the rest 

UTOPIA. 123 

of the garrison slaves. To the other inhabitants they do 
no hurt. And if any of them advised the surrender, they 
give them good rewards from the estates of the condemned, 
distributing the rest among their auxiliary troops; but them- 
selves take no share of the spoil. 

When a war is ended, they require not of their friends 
the reimbursement of their expence, but obtain it of the 
conquered, either in money, which they reserve for the 
next occasion, or in land, from which a constant revenue 
is to be paid them. By accumulation, the revenue they 
now derive in this way from several countries, exceeds 
700,000 ducats per annum. They send some of their own 
people to receive these revenues, who have orders to live 
with the magnificence of princes, by which they expend 
much of it in the place ; and they either bring the rest to 
Utopia, or lend it to the country it belonged to. This last 
is their common custom, unless some great occasion (which 
happens very rarely) should oblige them to call for it all. 
It is from these lands that they assign rewards to such as 
they engage in desperate attempts. 

If any prince at war with them proposes to invade their 
country, they prevent him by making his country the seat 
of war. For they very unwillingly suffer any Avar in their 
own island,- and should that happen, they would defend 
themselves without calling in the aid of auxiliary troops. 

Various religions abound in different parts of the island, 

R 2 


and even in every town. Some worship the sun, others the 
moon, or one of the planets. Others again worship such 
men as have been eminent for virtue or glory, not only as 
ordinary deities, but as the Supreme God. Yet the greater 
and wiser part, adore one eternal, invisible, infinite, in- 
comprehensible Deity ; as a being far above all our appre- 
hensions, who is spread over the whole universe, not in ma- 
terial substance, but in power and virtue. They call him, 
tire Father of all,- and acknowledge that the begin- 
ning, increase, progress, vicissitudes, and end of all things 
arise from him ; nor do they offer divine honours to any 

Indeed, though they differ in other things, yet all agree 
in thinking there is one Supreme Being Avho made and go- 
verns the world, whom, in their language, they call Mithras. 
One thinks the God he worships is this Supreme Being, 
another that his idol is that God ; but all agree that, who- 
ever is this Supreme Being, he is also that great essence, to 
whose glory and majesty all honours are ascribed by the 
consent of all nations. 

By degrees they abandon their various superstitions and 
unite in the religion which is best and most esteemed. And 
there can be no doubt but that all the others had long ago 
vanished, had not, whatever accident happened to those 
who advised them to lay aside their superstitions, been con- 
sidered as inflicted by heaven, and created a dread, that 
the God whose worship had been nearly abandoned had 

UTOPIA. 123 

interposed, and had revenged himself on those who de- 
spised his authority. 

When they had heard from us the doctrine, course oj 
life, and miracles of Christ, and the wonderful constancy 
of so many martyrs, whose blood, so willingly offered-up 
by them, contributed to the spreading of their religion over 
a vast number of nations, it is not to be imagined how in- 
clined they were to receive it. I will not determine whe- 
ther this proceeded from divine inspiration, or from the 
notion of a community of goods, so peculiar and dear to 
them ; since they perceived that Christ and his followers 
lived by that rule, and that it was still maintained in some 
communities among the sincercst Christians. However that 
be, many of them came over to our religion and were ini- 
tiated in it by baptism. But two of our number were, 
dead, and none of the four survivors were in priests or- 
ders ; we could therefore only baptize them, and to our 
great regret they could not partake of the other sacraments, 
only to be administered by priests. They are, however, 
instructed concerning them, and vehemently long for them 
They disputed among themselves, whether one chosen by 
them to be a priest, Avould not thereby be qualified to per- 
form every office of one, though he derived no authority 
from the pope ; and they seemed resolved to make an elec- 
tion for that purpose, but had not done it when I left 

Those who do not embrace our religion, deter none from- 

126 MR T. MORES 

so doing, and use none ill who become converts to it. Wlnl e 
I was there, one man only was punished on this occasion. 
Being newly baptized, notwithstanding all we could say to 
the contrary, he disputed publicly concerning the Christian 
religion with more zeal than discretion ; and with such 
heat, that he not only preferred our worship to theirs, but 
condemned all their rites as profane, crying out against all 
who adhered to them as impious and sacrilegious, to be 
condemned to everlasting flames. On his having frequent- 
ly preached in this manner, he was taken up, tried, and 
banished, not for having disparaged their religion, but for 
inflaming the people to sedition ; for it is one of their old- 
jest laws, that no man is to be punished for his religion. 

Utopus understood, that before his coming among them, 
the inhabitants had been engaged in serious quarrels con- 
cerning religion. By this they were so divided among them- 
selves, that, every party fighting by itself, he found it easy 
to conquer them. This done, he made a law that every 
man might be of what religion he pleased, and mignt en- 
deavour to draw others to his persuasion by argument, 
friendship, and modest demeanour, without bitterness against 
those of other opinions ; but any using other force than 
that of persuasion, or using reproaches or violence, were to 
be condemned to banishment or slavery. 

This law was made by Utopus, not only to preserve the 
public peace, which he saw suffered much by daily con- 
tentions and irreconcilable sects, but because he thought 

UTOPIA. 227 

the interest of religion itself required it. lie judged it 
wrong to lay down any thing rashly ; and seemed to doubt 
whether those different forms of religion might not all pro- 
ceed from God, who might inspire men in a different man- 
ner, and be pleased with the variety. lie therefore thought 
it indecent and foolish for any man to threaten and terrify 
another, to make him believe what did not strike him as 
true. Supposing only one religion to be true and the rest 
false, he imagined that the innate force of truth would at 
last break forth and shine with splendour, if supported on- 
ly by the strength of reasoning, and attended to by a docile 
and unprejudiced mind. On the other hand, were such 
debates carried on with violence and tumult, since the 
most wicked are ever the most obstinate, the best and holi- 
est religion might be choked with superstition, as corn is 
with thorns and briars. 

He therefore left men free, to believe as the}' saw cause ; 
making only a solemn and severe law against those who 
should so far degenerate from the dignity of human nature, 
as to suppose our souls died with our bodies, or that the 
world was governed by chance, without a wise directing 
providence. For they all formerly believed that there is a- 
state of rewards and punishments after this life ; and they 
now esteem those who think otherwise as unfit to be ac- 
counted men, degrading so noble a being as the soul of 
man, and ranking it with the beast. They look upon such 
men as totally unfit for human society, or to be citizens of 
a well-ordered commonwealth, since, with such principles, 


as oft as they dare, they will despise all their laws and 
customs ; there being no doubt, that one who feareth no- 
thing but the law, and apprehendeth nothing after death, 
will not scruple to break through all the laws of his coun- 
try by fraud or force, when b} r so doing he can satisfy his 

They never raise any who entertain such opinions, either 
to honours or offices, nor do they employ them in an} 7 pub- 
lic trust, but despise them as men of base and sordid minds. 
Yet do they not punish them. For they lay it down as a 
maxim, that man cannot make himself believe any thing 
he pleases, nor do they drive any by threats to dissemble 
their thoughts, Thus, men are not tempted to lie, or to 
disguise their opinions, which (being a kind of fraud) is 
abhorred by the Utopians. They take care indeed to pre- 
vent their disputing in defence of these opinions, especial- 
ly before the common people. But they suffer, nay, even 
encourage them, to dispute of them in private with their 
priests and other grave men, being confident they will be 
cured of their madness, by the conviction which their rea- 
son will receive. 

There be many of them who run deeply into the other 
extreme, though it is not thought a bad or a very unrea- 
sonable opinion, and is therefore not at all discouraged. 
These think the souls of beasts immortal, though far in- 
ferior to the dignity of the human soul, and incapable of 
so great happiness. 

UTOPIA. 129 

They are nearly all of them firmly persuaded that good 
men will be infinitely happy in another state. Therefore, 
though they be compassionate to the sick, they lament no 
man's death, unless they see him loath to part with life. 
This they esteem a very bad presage ; as if the soul, con- 
scious of guilt, and hopeless, feared to leave the body from 
some prepossession of approaching misery. They think a 
man's appearance before God cannot be acceptable to him, 
who, being called, goeth not cheerfully, but is backward, un- 
willing, and as it were dragged to it. They are struck with 
horror when they see any die in this manner ; and carrying 
them out in silence and sorrow, praying Cod to be mer- 
ciful to the errors of the departed soul, they inter them. 

But when they die cheerfully and full of hope, they 
mourn not, but sing hymns when they carry out their bo- 
dies, commending their souls very earnestly to God. Their 
whole behaviour then, is rather grave than sad. They burn 
the body, and erect a pillar where the pile was made, with 
an inscription to the honour of the deceased. When they 
return from the funeral, they discourse of his good life and 
worthy actions, but speak of nothing oftner, or with more 
pleasure, than of his serenity at the hour of death. They 
tliink such respect, paid to the memory of good men, to 
be, as well the greatest incitement to others to follow their 
example, as the most acceptable worship which can be of- 
fered themselves. For they believe, that though, by the 
imperfection of human eyes, they be invisible to us, yet 

Vol. II. S 

130 SIR T. MORE'S 

they are present among us and hear our discourses con- 
cerning themselves. 

They deem it inconsistent with the happiness of departed 
souls, not to be at liberty to range Avhere they please, and 
imagine them incapable of the ingratitude of not desiring 
to see those friends with whom they lived on earth in the 
strictest bonds of love and kindness. Beside, they are per- 
suaded, that good men, after death, have these affections 
and all other good dispositions, increased rather than di- 
minished ; and therefore conclude, they are still present to 
the living, and observe all they say and do. Hence, they 
engage in every pursuit with greater confidence, trusting to 
their protection ; while the same opinion of the presence of 
their ancestors is a restraint, which prevents their engaging 
in ill designs. 


They ridicule and despise auguries, and the other vain 
and superstitious modes of divination, so much observed 
in other countries. But they have great reverence for such 
miracles as cannot proceed from any natural cause, esteem- 
ing them indications and effects of the presence of the Su- 
preme Being, of which they say many instances have oc- 
curred among them ; and that sometimes their public pray- 
ers, Avhich, on momentous occasions, they have solemnly 
put up to God with confidence of being heard, have been 
answered in a miraculous maimer. They deem the con- 
templation of God in his works, and the adoration of him 

UTOriA. 131 

for their excellence, to be tributes highly acceptable to 
the Deity. 

There be many among them who, from a religious mo- 
tive, neglect learning, and apply themselves to no study 
whatever. Nor do they allow themselves any leisure, bu( 
are perpetually occupied ; believing, that by the good which 
a man doth, he secureth to himself that happiness which 
comes after death. Some of these visit the sick ; others, 
mend highways, clean ditches, repair bridges, or dig turf, 
gravel, or stones. Others fell and cleave timber, and bring 
wood, corn, and other necessaries, on carts into their towns. 
Nor do these serve the public only, but individuals, and 
that more than the slaves themselves. For, if there be any- 
where a rough, difficult, and sordid undertaking, from which 
most are deterred by its labour and loathsomeness, if not 
the despair of accomplishing it, they voluntarily and cheer- 
fully take it in hand, thereby greatly easing others, and 
prescribing to themselves a life of hard labour, j^et without 
valuing themselves upon it, or diminishing the credit of 
others to increase their own. And the lower they stoop in 
such servile occupations, the more are they esteemed by 

There be two kinds of these people. Some live in single- 
ness and chastity, and abstain from flesh. Thus weaning 
themselves from all the pleasures of this life (which they 
account hurtful), they pursue, even by the most difficult 
and painful methods possible, that bliss which they hope 

S 2 

132 SIR T. MOKE'S 

for hereafter ; and the nearer they approach ii, the more 
cheerful and earnest arc their endeavours after it. 

Another kind of them, though they be no less sollicitous 
of toil, yet they prefer the married to the single state. 
These deny not themselves the comforts of that state, and 
think the propagation of their species is a debt they owe 
to human nature and their country. Nor do they avoid 
any pleasure which hindereth not labour, and eat flesh the 
more willingly as it recruits them for it. The Utopians 
esteem this the wiser sect, but the other the more hoby. 
They would indeed laugh at any one, who on mere rational 
principles would prefer the single to the married state, or 
a life of labour to one of ease ; but they ever admire and 
reverence such as do it from religious motives, there beino; 
nothing in which they are more cautious, than in deciding 
rashly on that subject. Those, therefore, who lead these 
severe lives, are called in their language Butjirescas, which 
answers to our term religious orders. 

Their priests are men of eminent piety, and therefore 
few in number. For there are only thirteen in every town, 
one for every temple. But when they go to Avar, seven of 
these attend them, and seven more are chosen in their 
place, the former reassuming their office on their return, 
and those who served in their absence attending on the 
high-priest (who presideth over the rest) till vacancies oc- 
cur by death. They are chosen by the people in the same 
m; muer as the magistrates, by suffrages, privily given, to 

UTOPIA. 13 j 

prevent faction ; and when chosen, they arc consecrated 
by the college of priests. The care of every thing sacred, 
the worship of God, and a due inspection into the man- 
ners of the people, arc committed to them. It is a re- 
proach to be sent for by any of them, or to be spoken to 
by them in private, it ever creating suspicion. Yet they 
have only to admonish the people, for the power of punish- 
ing offences resteth entirely with the prince and other ma* 

The severest thing the priest doth, is to exclude those 
who are desperately wicked from joining in their worship ; 
and no kind of punishment is more dreaded by them. It 
loads them with infamy and fills them with secret horror ; 
such is their reverence of their religion ! Nor Avill their bo- 
dies remain long exempt from their share of suffering. For 
if they do not very soon satisfy the priest of the sincerity 
of their repentance, they are seized by the senate and pu- 
nished for their impiety. 

The education of youth is in the hands of the priests. 
They are less solicitous of instructing them in letters, than 
of forming aright their minds and manners. They use all 
possible means of infusing very early into the tender and 
flexible minds of children, such opinions as are both good 
in themselves, and will be useful to their country. For, 
when deep impressions of this kind are made at such an 
age, they follow man through life, and conduce materially 
to the tranquillity of the state in which he lives, which may 

134 SIR T. MORE'S 

suffer from nothing; more than from the vices arising from 
bad sentiments. Their priests, if they be not women (for 
that sex is not excluded from the office, though rarely 
chosen, and then not unless she be a widow and old), have 
for their wives the most excellent women in the countrv. 

None of the magistrates have greater respect shewn them 
than the priests ; and should they commit any crime they 
would not be questioned about it, their punishment being- 
left to God and their consciences. For the Utopians deem 
it unlawful to lay hands on any man, how wicked soever, 
who- hath been particularly dedicated to God. Nor find 
they any considerable inconvenience in this ; for, having so- 
few priests, and those chosen with much caution, it must 
be very unusual to find one, who was raised to such a dig- 
nity merely from his virtue and goodness, degenerating in- 
to corruption and vice. Even should such a thing happen, 
for man is changeable, yet the smallness of their number, 
and their having no authority but what arises from the re- 
spect paid them, nothing of consequence can happen to 
the public from the indemnity they enjoy. 

They have so few of them, lest numbers sharing in the 
honour, the dignity of the order, so highly esteemed by 
them, might sink in reputation. They also think it diffi- 
cult to find many of such exalted goodness, as to be equal 
to that dignity which demands the exercise of more than 
common virtue. Nor are these priests in less veneration. 

UTOPIA. 135 

among neighbouring nations, as you may imagine by what 
I am going to relate. 

When the Utopians engage in war, the priests who ac- 
company them to the battle, apparelled in their sacred 
vestments, kneel during the action near the field, and pray 
first for peace, next for victory to their side, and lastly for 
little effusion of blood on either side. Is the victory in 
their favour, they run in among their troops to restrain their 
fury. If any of the enemy see or call to them, they are 
preserved ; and such as can touch their garments, have not 
only their lives but their fortunes secured to them. On 
this account, all neighbouring nations consider them with 
such reverence, that they have frequently been no less able 
to save their own men from the fury of the enemy. For it 
hath sometimes happened, when their army hath been in 
disorder and flying, and the enemy running to the slaughter 
and spoil, the priests have interfered, separated them, and 
stopped the effusion of blood ; and a peace hath been con- 
cluded on reasonable terms. Nor is there any nation about 
them so fierce or barbarous, as not to reckon the persons 
of the priests sacred and inviolable. 

The first and last day of the month and of the year, is 
with them a festival. They measure their months by the. 
course of the moon, and their years by that of the sun. 
The first days are called in their language Cynemernes, 
and the last Trapemernes, which terms answer in our lan- 
guage to the festivals which begin and end the season. 

136 SIR T. MORE'S 

The}' have magnificent temples, nobly built and spaci- 
ous, which is the more necessary as they have so few of 
them. These are somewhat dark within, which proceeds 
from no error in the building, but is done with design. For 
their priests are of opinion that too much light dissipates 
the thoughts, while a more moderate degree concentrates 
the mind and raises devotion. 

Though there be many different forms of religion among 
them, all agree in the main point of worshipping the di- 
vine essence. Therefore there is nothing to be seen or 
heard in their temples, in which the several persuasions 
among them may not agree. For every sect performs the 
rites peculiar to it in their private houses, and there is no- 
thing in the public worship which contradicts their pecu- 
liarities. There are no images of God in their temples, 
therefore every one may represent him to his thoughts in 
his own way ; nor do they use for him any other name than 
Mithras, their term in common for the divine essence, 
whatever otherwise they think of it ; nor have they any 
forms of prayer, but such as every one of them may use 
without prejudice to his private opinion. 

They meet in their temples on the eve of the festival 
concluding a month or year, and before breaking their last, 
thank God for their prosperity during that period. The 
next day they meet there again early, to pray for the same 
prosperity during the period on which they then enter. 
Before they go to the temple, wives and children kneel to 

UTOPIA. 137 

their husbands and parents, confess every thing in which 
they have erred or failed in their duty, and beg pardon for 
it. Tims all petty dissatisfactions in families are removed, 
and they can offer their devotions with serenity and purc- 
ness of mind. For they hold it, a great impiety to enter 
upon them with disturbed thoughts, or with a conscious- 
ness of bearing hatred or anger to any one ; and that they 
should become liable to severe punishment, if they presum- 
ed to offer sacrifices without cleansing their hearts and re- 
conciling every difference. 

In the temples the sexes are separated, the men going to 
the right and the women to the left. Males as well as fe- 
males place themselves before the master or mistress of the 
family to which they belong, that those who have the go- 
vernment of them at home may see their deportment in 
public. They mingle the young with the old, lest, being 
apart, they might trifle away that time in which they ought 
to form in themselves that religious awe of the Supreme 
Being, which is the strongest and nearly the sole incite- 
ment to virtue. 

They offer no living creature in sacrifice ; not thinking it 
suitable to the Divine Being, by whose bounty these crea- 
tures have their lives, to take pleasure in their deaths, or 
the offering their blood. They burn incense and other sweet 
odours, and burn a number of waxen lights durino- their 
worship. And this, not from any imagination that such 
oblations can add any thing to the Divine Nature, which 

Vol. II. T 

138 SIR T. MORE'S 

even prayers cannot, but it is a harmless and pure mode of 
worship ; and these sweet savours and lights, with some 
other ceremonies, by a secret and unaccountable virtue, 
elevate man's soul, and inspire him with energy and cheer- 
fulness during divine worship. 

The people appear in the temples in white garments, 
but the vestments of the priests are party-coloured, and the 
work as well as the colours are highly curious. They are 
made of no rich materials, for neither are they embroider- 
ed, nor beset with precious stones ; but they are composed 
of the plumage of birds, with such art, that the real value 
of them exceedeth the costliest materials. They say, that 
in the disposition of these plumes, some dark mysteries are 
represented, which descend in a secret tradition among 
their priests ; being a kind of hieroglyphic, reminding them 
of the blessings derived from God, and of their duty to 
him and their neighbour* 


When the priest appears in these garments, they all fall 
prostrate to the ground with such reverence and silence, 
that a spectator cannot but be struck, as if it was an ef- 
fect of some supernatural appearance. After being for 
some time in this posture, they all stand up, on a sign given 
by the priest, and sing rrymns to the honour of God, mu- 
sical instruments playing the while. These are of a form 
totally differing from those used among us ; many arc much 
sweeter, others not to be compared to ours. Yet in one 
thing they very much excel us. All their music, vocal as 

UTOPIA. 139 

well as instrumental, imitates and expresses the passions. 
It is so well adapted to every occasion, that, be the sub- 
ject deprecation, gladness, soothing, trouble, mourning, or 
anger, the music gives such a lively impression of what is 
represented, as wonderfully to affect and kindle the pas- 
sions, and work the sentiments deeply into the hearts of 
the hearers. 

This done, priests and people offer very solemn prayers 
to God in a set form of words ; which are so composed, 
that whatever is pronounced by the whole assembly may 
be applied by any individual to himself. In these they ac- 
knowledge God to be the author and governor of the world, 
and the fountain of all the good they receive ; they there- 
fore offer him their thanksgiving. In particular, they bless 
him that they are born under the happiest government in 
the world, and are of a religious persuasion which they 
hope is the truest of all others. Be they mistaken, and 
there is a better government, or a religion more acceptable 
to "him, they implore his goodness to let them know it ; 
vowing that they resolve to follow him whithersoever he 
leadeth. But if their government be the best and their re- 
ligion the truest, they pray that he may strengthen them 
therein, and bring all the Avorld to the same rules of life 
and the same opinions of himself; unless, in his unsearch- 
able wisdom, he be pleased with a variety of religions. 

Then they pray that God may give them an easy pass- 
age at last to himself. They presume not to limit how ear- 

T 2 


ly or late it should be ; but if a wish may be formed, with- 
out derogating from his supreme authority, they desire to 
be quickly delivered and taken to him, though by the most 
terrible death, rather than to be long detained from seeing 
him by the most prosperous life.. This prayer ended, they 
all fall down again to the ground, and after a short pause 
rise, go home to dinner, and spend the rest of the day im 
diversion or military exercise. 

Thus have I described to you, as particularly as I could, 
the constitution of that commonwealth, which I think not 
only the best in the world, but the only one truly deserving- 
that name. In all other places^ while men talk of a com- 
momvealth, every one seeketh only his own wealth ; but. 
there, where no man hath any property, all pursue with 
zeal the public good. 

And, indeed, this diversity of conduct is no wonder., In 
other commonwealths, every one knows, that unless he pro- 
vide for himself, how flourishing soever the state may be, 
he must die of hunger ; he therefore sees the necessity of 
preferring his private to the public good. But in Utopia, 
where every one hath a right to every thing, they all know, 
that if due care be taken to supply the public stores, no 
individual can want any thing. Among them is no unequal 
distribution, so no one is in necessity ; and though no man 
hath any thing, all are rich. For what can render man so 
rich as to lead a serene and cheerful life free from anxieties, 
neither apprehending want himself, nor vexed with the com- 

UTOPIA. 141 

plaints of those about him. He fears not for his children, nor 
is he anxiously raising portions for his daughters ; but is se- 
cure, that he, his wife, children, grand-children, to as many 
generations as he can imagine, will all live in affluence and 
happiness ; since in his country, no less care is taken of 
those who once laboured and were afterward disabled, than 
elsewhere of those who are still able to work. 

Would any man compare their justice with that of other 
countries ? — in which, may I perish! if I see any thing either 
like justice or equity. For what justice is there in a noble- 
man, &c. or any one who either does nothing, or is employed 
in things which are of no use to the public, living in luxury 
and splendour on what is so ill acquired ; while a carter, a 
smith, or a plowman, who works harder than a beast, and 
is employed in such necessary labour that no state could 
exist a year without it, can earn only a poor livelihood, and 
must lead so miserable a life, that the condition of the 
beast is often preferable. For the beast worketh not so in- 
cessantly, feedeth nearly as well and with more pleasure, 
and hath no anxiety about the future ; while these men are 
depressed by a fruitless employment, and tormented with 
the apprehension of want in old age; since their daily la- 
bour doth but maintain them, and no overplus is left for. 

Is not that government unjust as well as ungrateful, 
which is so prodigal of her favours to those called gentle- 
men, &c. or to such as are idle, live by flattery or contriv- 

142 SIR T. MORE'S 

ing the arts of vain pleasure, while she takes no care of 
those of a meaner sort, as plowmen, colliers, &c. without 
whom she could not subsist ? But, when the public hath 
reaped every advantage of the services of the latter, and 
they become oppressed with age, sickness, and want, all 
their labours and their benefit to society are forgotten, and 
all the recompence they receive is, to die in misery. The 
rich, moreover, often endeavour to lower the wages of la- 
bourers by their unjustifiable practices, and the laws they 
procure to be made ; so that, although it be very unjust to 
eive such low remuneration to those who deserve so well 
of the public, they have added to this hardship the name 
and colour of justice, by procuring laws for regulating the 

I must therefore say, as I hope for mercy ! I can have 
no other notion of all the other governments I see or know, 
than that they are a combination of the rich ; who, under 
pretence of the public benefit, pursue their private ends, 
and devise every art they can invent, first of preserving, 
without danger, all that they have so ill acquired, and next 
of engaging the poor to toil for them at as low rates as pos- 
sible, and of oppressing them as much as they please. And 
if they ean but succeed in establishing these plans by the 
show of public authority (which passcth for the voice of the 
people), they are accounted laws. 

Yet these wicked men, even when they have, with the 
most insatiate avarice, divided that among themselves which 

UTOPIA. 143 

would well have supplied all the rest, arc far from that hap- 
piness which the Utopians enjoy. For the use as well as 
desire for money being extinguished, much anxiety and 
great occasions of mischief are cut off. Who seeth not 
that the frauds, thefts, quarrels, tumults, seditions, mur- 
ders, treacheries, and witchcrafts, which are punished ra- 
ther than restrained by law, would all cease with the value 
of money in the world ? Mens fears, solicitudes, labours, 
watchings, would perish with it. Poverty itself, for whose 
relief money seemeth most necessary, would fall. But to 
apprehend this aright, take an instance. 

Take any year in which thousands have died by famine. 
Had a survey been made at the end of that year of the 
granaries of the rich who had hoarded corn, it would have 
been found that there was enough to have prevented the 
misery, and that, had it been distributed, none would have 
felt the dreadful effects of scarcity. So easy would it be 
to supply every necessity of life, if that blessed thing call~ 
cd money, pretended to be invented for procuring them,, 
was not in reality the only obstacle to it. 

I doubt not but the rich are sensible of this, and that 
they are well aware how much happier it is to want no- 
thing necessary, than to abound in superfluities ; to be res- 
cued from such misery, than to roll in such wealth. And 
I cannot think but every man's sense of his interest, added 
to the authority of Christ (who, being infinitely wise, knew 
what was best, and was no less good in discovering it to 


us), would have drawn all mankind over to the laws of 
Utopia, did not pride, that plague of humanity, that source 
of misery, prevent it. She measureth happiness less by 
her own comfort than by the misery of others, and would 
not be satisfied with being a goddess, were none left miser- 
able whom she mio;ht domineer. She thinketh her own 
happiness shines brighter by the gloom of others' misfor- 
tunes, and displayeth her wealth, that they may the more 
sensibly feel their poverty. 

This is the infernal serpent which slinketh into the breast 
of man, and possesseth him too strongly to be easily drawn 
out. I rejoice therefore that the Utopians have fallen on 
this form of government, in which I wish all the world 
could be so wise as to imitate them. For, they have insti- 
tuted so politic a scheme, that men live happily under it, 
and likely to do so for a long continuance. Having 
rooted from the minds of their people all the seeds of am- 
bition and faction, they have no danger of civil commo- 
tion, which alone hath been the ruin of many a state, others 
wise seemingly well secured. But while they live in peace 
at home, governed by most excellent laws, the envy of all 
their neighbouring princes, who have often in vain attempt- 
ed their ruin, will never be able to put them into commo- 
tion or disorder.' 


When Raphael had thus finished his discourse ; though 
many things occurred to me in the manners and laws of 
this people which seemed sufficiently absurd, as their art 
of war, their notions of religion, &c. but principally (what 
seemed the foundation of the rest) their living in common 
without the use of money, by which all nobility, splendour, 
and majesty, in the common opinion the true ornaments 
of a nation, would be destroyed ; yet perceiving him to be 
weary, and being uncertain whether he could easily bear 
contradiction (for I remembered he had noticed some who 
seemed to think they were bound to support the credit of 
their wisdom, by finding something to censure in all other 
men's inventions), I only commended the constitution and 
the account he had given of it, in general terms ; and, lead- 
ing him to supper, said, I would find some other time for 
examining this subject more particularly. Indeed, I shall 
be glad to embrace an opportunity of so doing. Mean- 
while, though it must be confessed he is a very learned 
man, and one who hath acquired great knowledge of the 
world, I cannot assent to every thing he hath said. Yet I 
freely confess, there are many things in the commonwealth 
of Utopia, which I wish, but have no hope of seeing adopt- 
ed among us. 

Vol. II. U 






King Edward, of that name the Fourth, after that he 
had lived fifty and three years 7 months and 6 days, and 
thereof reigned 22 years 1 month and 8 days, died at West- 
minster the 9 th day of April the year of our redemption 
1483, leaving much fair issue. That is, to-wit, Edward the 
prince, at 13 years of age ; Richard duke of York, 2 years 
younger ; Elizabeth, whose fortune and grace was after- 
ward to be queen, wife unto King Henry VII, and mother 
unto the VIII ; Cecily, not so fortunate as fair ; Brigette, 
who representing the virtue of her whose name she bare, 
professed and observed a religious life in Dertforde, an house 
of close nuns ; Ann, who was afterward honourably mar- 
ried unto Thomas then Lord Howard and afterward earl of 
Surry ; and Catharine, who long time tossed in either for- 
tune, sometimes in wealth, oft in adversity, at the last (if 
this be the last, for yet she liveth), is by the benignity of 
her nephew King Henry VIII, in very prosperous estate, 
and worthy her birth and virtue. 

150 SIR T. MORE'S 

This noble prince deceased at his palace of Westminster, 
and with great funeral honour and heaviness of his people 
from thence conveyed, was interred at Windsor. A king 
of such governance and behaviour in time of peace (for 
in war each part must needs be others enemy), that there 
was never any prince of tins land, attaining the crown by 
battle, so heartily beloved with the substance of the people; 
nor he himself so specially in any part of his life, as at the 
time of his death. Which favour and affection yet after 
his decease, by the cruelty, mischief, and trouble of the 
tempestuous world that followed, highly toward him more 
increased. At such time as he died, the displeasure of 
those that bare him grudge for King Henry VI sake, whom 
he deposed, was well assuaged and in effect quenched, in 
that that many of them were dead in more than 20 years 
of his reign, a great part of a long life; and many of 
them in the mean season grown into his favour, of which 
he was never strange. 

He was a goodly personage and very princely to behold, 
of heart courageous, politic in counsel, in adversity nothing- 
abashed, in prosperity rather joyful than proud, in peace 
just and merciful, in war sharp and fierce, in the field bold 
and hardy, and nevertheless no farther than wisdom would 
adventurous. Whose wars whoso well consider, he shall 
no less commend his wisdom where he voided, than his 
manhood where he vanquished. He was of visage lovely, 
of body mighty, strong and clean made ; howbeit in his 
latter days with over-liberal diet, somewhat corpulent and 


boorly, and nevertheless not uncomely. He was of youth 
greatly given to fleshly wantonness, from which, health of 
body in great prosperity and fortune, without a special grace, 
hardly refraineth. This fault not greatly grieved the people; 
for neither could any one man's pleasure stretch and ex- 
tend to the displeasure of very many, and was without 
violence, and over that in his latter days lessened and well 
left. In which time of his latter days, this realm was in 
quiet and prosperous estate ; no fear of outward enemies, 
no war in hand, nor none toward but such as no man look- 
ed for ; the people toward the prince, not in a constrained 
fear, but in a willing and loving obedience ; among them- 
selves, the commons in good peace ; the lords whom he 
knew at variance, himself on his death-bed appeased. He 
had left all gathering of money (which is the only thing 
that withdraweth the hearts of Englishmen from the prince), 
nor any thing intended he to take in hand by which he 
should be driven thereto ; for his tribute out of France he 
had before obtained, and the year foregoing his death he 
had obtained Berwick. And albeit that all the time of his 
reign he was with his people so benign, courteous and so 
familiar, that no part of his virtues was more esteemed, yet 
that condition in the end of his days (in which many princes, 
by a long continued sovereignty, decline into a proud port, 
from debonair behaviour of their beginning), marvellously 
in him grew and increased. So far forth, that in the sum- 
mer, the last that ever he saw, his highness, being at Wind- 
sor in hunting, sent for the mayor and aldermen of London 
to him, for none other errand but to have them hunt and 

152 SIR T. MORE'S 

be merry with him ; where he made them not so stately., 
but so friendly and so familiar cheer, and sent venison from 
thence so freely into the city, that no one thing in many 
days before, gat him either more hearts or more hearty 
favour among the common people ; who oftentimes more 
esteem and take for greater kindness, a little courtesy than 
a great benefit. 

So deceased, as I have said, this noble king, in that time 
in which his life was most desired. Whose love of his people 
and their entire affection toward him, had been to his noble 
children (having in themselves also as many gifts of nature, 
as many princely virtues, as much goodly towardness, as 
their age could receive), a marvellous fortress and sure arm- 
our ; if division and dissention of their friends had not un- 
armed them and left them destitute, and the execrable de- 
sire of sovereignty provoked him to their destruction, who, 
if either kind or kindness had holden place, must needs 
have been their chief defence. For Richard the duke of 
Gloucester, by nature their uncle, by office their protector, 
to their father beholden, to themselves by oath and alle- 
giance bounden, all the bands broken that bind man and 
man together, without any respect of God or the world, 
unnaturally contrived to bereave them, not only of their 
dignity, but also their lives. But forasmuch as tins duke's 
demeanour ministereth in effect all the whole matter where- 
of this book shall entreat, it is therefore convenient some- 
what to shew you ere we farther go, what manner of man this 
was that could find in his heart so much mischief to conceive. 


Richard duke of York, a noble man and a mighty, began 
not by war, but by law, to challenge the crown, putting his 
claim into the parliament. Where his cause was either for 
right or favour so far forth advanced, that King Henry's 
blood (albeit he had a goodly prince) utterly rejected, the 
crown was, by authority of parliament, entailed unto the 
duke of York and his issue male in remainder, immediate- 
ly after the death of King Henry. But the duke not en- 
during so long to tarry, but intending, under pretext of dis- 
sention and debate arising in the realm, to prevent his time, 
and to take upon him the rule in King Henry's life, was, 
with many nobles of the realm, at Wakefield slain, leaving 
three sons, Edward, George, and Richard. All three as they 
were great states of birth, so were they great and stately of 
stomach, greedy and ambitious of authority, and impatient 
of partners. Edward revenging his father's death, deprived 
King Henry and attained the crown. George duke of 
Clarence was a goodly noble prince, and at all points for- 
tunate, if either his own ambition had not set him against 
his brother, or the envy of his enemies his brother against 
him. For, were it by the queen and the lords of her blood, 
who highly maligned the king's kindred (as women com- 
monly, not of malice b\it of nature, hate them whom their 
husbands love), or were it a proud appetite of the duke 
himself, intending to be king; at the leastwise heinous trea- 
son was there laid to his charge, and finally, were he faulty, 
were he faultless, attainted was he by parliament and 
judged to the death, and thereupon hastily drowned in a 
butt of malmsey. Whose death King Edward (albeit he 
Vol. II. X 

154 SIR T. MORE'S 

commanded it), when lie wist it was done, piteously be- 
wailed and sorrowfully repented. 

Richard, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in 
wit and courage equal with either of them ; in body and 
prowess, far under them both ; little of stature, ill-featured 
of limbs, crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than 
his right, hard favoured of visage, and such as is in states 
called warly, in other men otherwise ; he was malicious, 
wrathful, envious, and from before his birth ever froward. 
It is for truth reported, that the duchess, his mother, had 
so much ado in her travail, that she could not be delivered 
of him uncut ; and that he came into the world with the 
feet forward, as men be born outward, and (as the fame 
runneth) also not untoothed ; whether men, of hatred, re- 
port above the truth, or else that nature changed her course 
in his beginning, who in the course of his life many thing? 
unnaturally committed. None evil captain was he in the 
war, as to which his disposition was more metely than for 
peace. Sundry victories had he, and sometimes overthrows, 
but never in default as for his own person, either of hardi- 
ness or politic order. Free was he called of dispence, and 
somewhat above his power liberal. With large gifts he gat 
him unstedfast friendship, for which he was fain to pill and 
spoil in other places and get him stedfast hatred. He was 
close and secret, a deep dissembler, lowly of countenance, 
arrogant of heart, outwardly companionable where he in- 
wardly hated, not letting to kiss whom he thought to kill ; 
dispiteous and cruel, not for evil will alway, but after for 


ambition, and either for the surety or increase of his estate. 
■Friend and foe was inuchwhat indifferent where his ad- 
vantage grew ; he spared no man's death whose life with- 
stood his purpose. 

He slew with his own hands King Henry VI (being pri- 
soner in the Tower) as men constantly say ; and that with- 
out commandment or knowledge of the king, who would 
undoubtedly, if he had intended that thing, have appoint- 
ed that butcherly office to some other than his own born- 
brother. Some wise men also ween, that his drift covertly 
conveyed, lacked not in helping forth his brother of Clar- 
ence to his death ; which he resisted openly, howbeit some- 
what (as men deemed) more faintly than he that were hearti- 
ly minded to his wealth. And they who thus deem, think 
that he long time in King Edward's life forethought to be 
king, in case that the king his brother (whose life he look- 
ed that evil diet should shorten), should happen to decease 
(as indeed he did), while his children were young. And 
they deem, that for this intent he was glad of his brother's 
death the duke of Clarence, whose life must needs have 
hindered him so intending, whether the same duke of Clar- 
ence had kept him true to his nephew the young king, or 
cnterprised to be king himself. But of all this point is there 
no certainty, and whoso divineth upon conjectures may as 
well shoot too far as too short. Howbeit this have I by 
credible information learned, that the self night in which 
King Edward died, one Mystlebrooke long ere morning' 

X 2 

156 SIR T. MOKE'S 

cime in great haste to the house of one Pbttfper, dwelling 
in Red cross-street without Cripplegate, and when he was 
with hasty rapping quickly letten-in, he shewed unto Pot- 
tyer tliat King Edward was departed. By my truth man, 
quoth Pottyer, then will my master the duke of Gloucester 
be king. What cause he had so to think, hard it is to say, 
whether he being toward him any thing knew that he such 
thing purposed, or otherwise had any inkling thereof; for 
be was not likely to speak it of nought. 

But now to return to the course of this history. Were it 
that the duke of Gloucester had of old foreminded this 
conclusion, or was now at first thereunto moved and put in 
hope, by the occasion of the tender age of the young 
princes his nephews (as opportunity and likelihood of speed 
putteth a man in courage of that he never intended), cer- 
tain is it that he contrived their destruction, with the usurpa- 
tion of the regal dignity upon himself. And forasmuch as 
he well wist and helped to maintain a long-continued grudge 
and heart-burning between the queen's kindred and the 
king's blood, either party envying other's authority, he now 
thought that their division should be (as it was indeed) a 
farthering beginning to the pursuit of his intent, and a sure 
ground for the foundation of all his building ; if he might 
first, under the pretext of revenging old displeasure, abuse 
the anger and ignorance of the one party to the destruction 
of the other, and then Avin to his purpose as many as he 
could, and those that could not be won might be lost ere 
they looked therefore. For of one thing was he certain, 


that if his intent were perceived, he should soon have made 
peace between the both parties with his own blood. 

Kins; Edward in his life, albeit that this disscntion be- 
twcen his friends somewhat irked him, yet in his good health 
he somewhat the less regarded it, because he thought what- 
soever business should fall between them, himself should 
alway be able to rule both the parties. But in his last sick- 
ness, when he perceived his natural strength so sore en- 
feebled that he despaired all recovery, then he considering 
the youth of his children, albeit he nothing less mistrusted 
than that that happened, yet well foreseeing that many 
harms might grow by their debate, while the youth of his 
children should lack discretion of themselves and good coun- 
sel of their friends (of which either party should counsel for 
their own commodity, and rather by pleasant advice to win 
themselves favour, than by profitable advertisement to do 
the children good), he called some of them before him that 
were at variance, and in especial the Lord Marquis Dorset, 
the queen's son by her first husband, and Richard the Lord 
Hastings, a noble man then lord-chamberlain, against 
whom the queen specially grudged for the great favour the 
king bare him, and also for that she thought him secretly 
familiar Avith the king in wanton company. Her kindred 
also bare him sore, as well for that the king had made him 
captain of Calais (which office the Lord Rivers, brother to 
the queen, claimed of the king's former promise), as foi 
divers other great gifts which he received, that they looked 
for. "When these lords, with divers others of both the par- 

li>8 SIR T. MORE'S 

ties, were come in presence, the king lifting-up himself and 
underset with pillows, as it is reported, on this wise said un- 
to them. 

' My lords, my dear kinsmen and allies, in what plight 
I lie, ye see and I feel. By which the less while I look 
to live with ye, the more deeply am I moved to care in 
what case I leave ye ; for such as I leave ye, such be 
my children like to find ye. Who, if they should (that 
God forbid!) find ye at variance, might hap to fall them- 
selves at war ere their discretion would serve to set ye at 
peace. Ye see their youth, of which I reckon the only 
surety to rest in your concord. For it sufficeth not that all 
ye love them, if each of ye hate other. If they were 
men, your faithfulness haply would suffice. But childhood 
must be maintained by men's authority, and slippery youth 
underpropped Avith elder counsel, which neither they can 
have but ye give it, nor ye give it if ye agree not. For 
where each laboureth to break that the other maketh, and, 
for hatred of each other's person, impugneth each other's 
counsel - , there must it needs be long ere any good conclu- 
sion go forward. And also while either party laboureth to 
be chief, flattery shall have more place than plain and 
faithful advice. Of which must needs ensue the evil bring- 
ing-up of the prince, whose mind in tender youth infected, 
. shall readily fall to mischief and riot, and draw down with 
it this noble realm to ruin. But if grace turn him to wis- 
dom, which if God send, then they who by evil means be- 
fore pleased him best, shall after fall farthest out of favour; 


so that ever at length evil drifts drive to nought, and good 
plain ways prosper. 

' Great variance hath there long been between }-e, not 
alway for great causes. Sometimes a thing right well in- 
tended our misconstruction turneth unto worse, or a small 
displeasure done us either our own affection or evil tongues 
agrieveth. But this wot I well, ye never had so great cause 
of hatred as ye have of love. That we be all men, that we 
be christian men, this shall I leave for preachers to tell 
ye ; and yet I wot neither, whether any preacher's words 
ought more to move ye, than his who is by and by going 
to the place Avhich they all preach of. But this shall I de- 
sire ye to remember, that the one part of ye is of my 
blood, the other of mine allies, and each of ye with other 
either of kindred or affinity. Which spiritual kindred or 
affinity, if the sacraments of Christ's church bore that 
weight with us, which would God they did, should no less 
move us to charity than the respect of fleshly consanguini- 
ty. Our Lord forbid, that ye love together the worse for 
the self cause that ye ought to love the better ! And .yet 
that happeneth. And nowhere find we so deadly debate, 
as among them who by nature and law most ought to agree 
together. Such a pestilent serpent is ambition and desire 
of vain-glory and sovereignty ! Who, among states where 
he once entereth, creepeth forth so far, till with division 
and variance he turneth all to mischief; first longing to be 
next the best, afterward equal with the best, and at last 
chief and above the best. Of which immoderate appetite of 

J 60 S#t T. MORFS 

worship, and thereby of debate and dissention, what loss, 
what sorrow, what trouble hath within these few years grown 
in this realm, I pray God as well forget as we well remem- 
ber ! Which things, if I could as well have foreseen, as I 
have with my more pain than pleasure proved, by God's 
blessed Lady (that was ever his oath), I would never have 
won the courtesy of men's knees with the loss of so many 
heads ! 

• But since things past cannot lie recalled, much ought 
we the more beware, by what occasion we have taken so 
great hurt afore, that we eftsoons fall not in that occa- 
sion again. Now be those griefs past, and all is, God be 
thanked ! quiet and likely right well to prosper in wealthful 
peace under your cousins, my children, if God send them 
life and ye love. Of which two things, the less loss were 
they- By whom though God did his pleasure, yet should 
the realm alway find kings, and peradventure as good kings. 
But if ye among yourselves, in a child's reign, fall at de- 
bate, many a good man shall perish, aud haply he too, and 
ye too, ere this land find peace again. Wherefore, in these 
last words that ever I look to speak with ye, I exhort ye 
and require ye all, for the love that ye have ever borne 
to me, for the love that I have ever borne to ye, for the 
love that our Lord beareth to us all, from this time for- 
Avard, all griefs forgotten, each of ye love other. Which 1 
verily trust ye will, if ye any thing earthly regard, either 
-God or your king, affinity or kindred, this realm, your own 
country, or your own surety.' 


And therewithal the king no longer enduring to sit up, 
laid hiin down on his right side, his face toward them ; and 
none was there present that could refrain from weeping. 
But the lords, rccomforting him with as good words as they 
could, and answering for the time as they thought to stand 
with his pleasure, there in his presence, as by their words 
appeared, each forgave other and joined their hands toge- 
ther, when, as it after appeared by their deeds, their hearts 
were far asunder. 

As soon as the king was departed, the noble prince, his 
son, drew toward London, who, at the time of his decease 
kept his household at Ludlow in Wales. Which country, 
being far oft" from the law and recourse to justice, was be- 
gun to be far out of good will and waxen wild, robbers and 
rivers (ruffians) walking at liberty uncorrected. And for 
this encheason (cause) the prince was, in the life of his fa- 
ther, sent thither, to the end that the authority of his pre- 
sence should restrain evil-disposed persons from the bold- 
ness of their former outrages. To the governance and or- 
dering of this young prince at his sending thither, was there 
appointed Sir Anthony Wodvile, Lord Rivers, and brother 
unto the queen, a right honourable man, as valiant of hand 
as politic in counsel. Adjoined were there unto him others 
of the same party ; and in effect, every one as he was 
nearest of kin unto the queen, so was planted next about 
the prince. 

That drift, by the queen not unwisely devised, whereby 
Vol. II. Y 


her blood might of youth be rooted in the prince's favour, 
the duke of Gloucester turned unto their destruction, and 
upon that ground set the foundation of all his unhappy 
building. For, whomsoever he perceived either at variance 
with them, or bearing himself their favour, he brake unto 
them, some by mouth, some by writing and secret messen- 
gers, that it neither was reason nor in anywise to be suffer- 
ed, that the young king, their master and kinsman, should 
be in the hands and custody of his mother's kindred, se- 
questered in a manner from their, company and attendance, 
of which every one owed him as faithful service as they, 
and many of them far more honourable part of kin than 
his mother's side. ' Whose blood, quoth he, saving the king's 
pleasure, was full unmetely to be matched with his ; which 
now to be, as we say, removed from the king and the less 
noble to be left about him, is, quoth he, neither honour- 
able to his majesty nor unto us ; and also to his grace no 
surety, to have the mightiest of his friends from him ; and 
unto us no little jeopardy, to suffer our well-proved evil 
willers to grow in over-great authority with the prince in 
youth, which is light of belief and soon persuaded. 

' Ye remember I trow King Edward himself, albeit he 
was a man of age and of discretion, } r et was he in many 
things ruled by the band, more than stood either with his 
honour or our profit, or with the commodity of any man 
else, except only the immoderate advancement of them- 
selves. Who, whether they sorer thirsted after their own 
weal or our woe, it were hard I ween to guess. And if 


some folks' friendship had not. holden better place with the 
king than any respect of kindred, there might perad venture 
easily have been trapped and brought to confusion some of 
us ere this. Why not as easily as they have done some 
other already, as near of his royal blood as we. But our 
Lord hath wrought his will, and, thank be to his grace! that 
peril is past. Howbeit as great is growing, if we suffer this 
young king in our enemy's hand ; who, without his wit- 
ting, might abuse the name of his commandment to any of 
our undoing, which thing God and good provision forbid. 
Of which good provision none of us hath any thing the less 
need for the late made atonement, in which the king's plea- 
sure had more place than the parties' wills. Nor none of 
us, I believe, is so unwise, oversoon to trust a new friend 
made of an old foe ; or to think that an hourly kindness, 
suddenly contracted in one hour, continued yet scant a 
fortnight, should be deeper settled in their stomachs, than 
a long-accustomed malice many years rooted.' 

With these words and writings, and such other, the duke 
of Gloucester soon set a-fire them who were of themselves 
ready to kindle ; and in especial twain, Edward duke of 
Buckingham, and Richard, Lord Hastings and chamber- 
lain, both men of honour and of great power ; the one by 
long succession from his ancestry, the other by his office 
and the king's favour. These two, not bearing each to 
other so much love as hatred both unto the queen's party, 
in this point accorded together with the duke of Gloucester, 
that they would utterly remove from the king's company 

Y 2 


all his mother's friends, under the name of their enemies. 
Upon this eoneluded, the duke of Gloucester understand- 
ing, that the lords, who at that time were about the king, 
intended to bring him up to his coronation, accompanied 
with such power of their friends, that it should be hard for 
him to bring his purpose to pass, without the gathering and 
great assembly of people, and in manner of open war, 
w T hereof the end he wist was doubtful, and in which, the 
king being on their side, his part should have the face and 
name of a rebellion ; he secretly therefore, by divers means, 
caused the queen to be persuaded and brought in the mind, 
that it neither were need, and also should be jeopardous, 
the king to come-up strong. For, whereas now every lord 
loved other, and none other thing studied upon but about 
the coronation and honour of the king, if the lords of her 
kindred should assemble in the king's name much people, 
they should give the lords, betwixt whom and them had 
been some time debate, to fear and suspect, lest they should 
gather this people, not for the king's safeguard, whom no 
man impugned, but for their destruction, having more re- 
gard to their old variance than their new atonement. For 
which cause, they should assemble on the other party much 
people again for their defence, whose power she wist well- 
far stretched ; and thus should all the realm fall on a roar. 
And of all the hurt that thereof should ensue, which was 
likely not to be little, and the most harm there like to fall 
where she least would, all the world would put her and her 
kindred in the weight, and say, that they had unwisely, 
and untruly also, broken the amity and peace, which the 


king her husband so prudently made between his kin and 
hers, on his death-bed, and which the other party faithfully 

The queen, being in this wise persuaded, such word sent 
unto her son, and unto her brother, being about the king. 
And over that, the duke of Gloucester himself, and other 
lords the chief of his band, wrote unto the king so reverent- 
ly, and to the queen's friends there so lovingly, that they, 
nothing earthly mistrusting, brought the king up in great 
haste, not in good speed, with a sober company. 

Now was the king, in his way to London, gone from 
Northampton, when these dukes of Gloucester and Buck- 
ingham came thither. "Where remained behind the Lord 
Rivers, the king's uncle, intending on the morrow to follow 
the king and be with him at Stony Stratford, thirteen miles 
thence, earlier than he departed. So was there made that 
night much friendly cheer, between these dukes and the 
Lord Rivers, a great while. But, incontinent after that 
they were openly with great courtesy departed and the 
Lord Rivers lodged, the dukes secretly, with a few of their 
most privy friends, set them down in council, wherein they 
spent a great part of the night. And at their rising in the 
dawning of the day, they sent about privily to their serv- 
ants in their inns and lodgings about, giving them com- 
mandment to make themselves shortly ready, for their lords 
were to horsebackward. Upon which messages, many of 
their folk were attendant, when many of the Lord Bivers' 

166 SIR T. MORE'S 

servants were unready. Now, had these dukes taken also 
into their custody the keys of the inn, that none should 
pass-forth without their licence. And, over this, in the 
highway toward Stony Stratford, where the king lay, they 
had bestowed certain of their folk, that should send back 
again and compel to return, any man that was gotten out 
of Northampton toward Stony Stratford, till they should 
oive other licence. Forasmuch as the dukes themselves in- 
tended, for the shew of their diligence, to be the first that 
should that day attend upon the king's highness out of that 
town, thus bare they folk in hand. 

But when the Lord Rivers understood the gates closed 
' and the ways on every side beset, neither his servants nor 
himself suffered to go out, perceiving well so great a thing 
without his knowledge not begun for nought, comparing 
this manner present with the last night's cheer, in so few 
hours so great a change marvelously misliked. Howbeit, 
since he could not get away, and keep himself close he 
would not, lest he should seem to hide himself for some se- 
cret fear of his own fault, whereof he saw no such cause in 
himself, he determined, upon the surety of his own con- 
science, to go boldly to them and inquire what this matter 
might mean. Whom, as soon as they saw, they began to 
quarrel with him, and say that he intended to set distance 
between the king and them, and to bring them to confu- 
sion ; but it should not lie in his power. And when be be- 
gan (as he was a very well-spoken man) in goodly wise to 
excuse himself, they tarried not the end of his answer, but 


shortly took him and put him in ward, and that done, forth- 
with went to horscbaek and took the way to Stony Strat- 
ford. Where they found the king with his company, ready 
to leap on horseback and depart forward, to leave that 
lodging for them, because it was too straight for both com- 
panies. And, as soon as they came in his presence, they 
lighted adown, with all their company about them. To 
whom the duke of Buckingham said, go afore gentlemen 
and yeomen, keep your rooms. And thus, in a goodly array, 
they came to the king, and on their knees, in very humble 
wise, saluted his grace. Who received them in very joyous 
and amiable manner, nothing earthly knowing nor mistrust- 
ing as yet. 

But even by and by, in his presence, they picked a quar- 
rel to the Lord Richard Graye, the king's other brother by 
his mother, saying that he, with the Lord Marquis his bro- 
ther, and the Lord Rivers his uncle, had compassed to rule 
the king and the realm, and to set variance among the 
states, and to subdue and destroy the noble blood of the 
realm. Toward the accomplishing whereof, they said that 
the Lord Marquis had entered into the Tower of London, 
and thence taken out the king's treasure, and sent men to 
the sea. All which things these dukes wist well were done 
for good purposes and necessary, by the whole council at 
London, saving that somewhat they must say. Unto which 
Avords the king answered, what my brother Marquis hath 
done I cannot say, but in good faith I dare well answer for 
■mine uncle Rivers and my brother here, that they be innocent 


of any such matters. ' Yea, my liege,' (quoth the duke of 
Buckingham) ' they have kept their dealing in these mat- 
ters far from the knowledge of your good grace ;' and forth- 
with they arrested the Lord Richard and Sir Thomas 
Waughan, knight, in the king's presence, and brought the 
king and all, back unto Northampton, wnere they took 
aoain farther counsel. 

And there they sent away from the king whom it pleased 
them, and set new servants about him, such as liked better 
them than him. At which dealing, he wept and was no- 
thing content, but it booted not. And at dinner, the duke 
of Gloucester sent a dish from his own table to the Lord 
Rivers, praying him to be of good cheer, all should be well 
enough. And he thanked the duke, and prayed the mes- 
senger to bear it to his nephew the Lord Richard, with the 
same message for his comfort, who he thought had more 
need of comfort, as one to whom such adversity was strange; 
but himself had been all his days in ure therewith, and 
therefore could bear it the better. But for all this com- 
fortable courtesy of the duke of Gloucester, he sent the 
Lord Rivers and the Lord Richard, with Sir Thomas 
"Waughan, into the north country, into divers places, to 
prison, and afterward all to Pomfrct, where they were in 
conclusion beheaded. 

In this wise the duke of Gloucester took upon himself 
the order and governance of the young king, whom, with 
much honour and humble reverence, he conveyed upward 


toward the city. J kit anon the tidings of this matter came 
hastily to the queen a little before the midnight following, 
and that in the sorest wise, that the king, her son, was taken, 
her brother, her son, and her other friends arrested and 
sent no man wist whither, to be done with God wot what. 
With which tidings the queen in great fright and heaviness, 
bewailing her child's ruin, her friends' mischance, and her 
own infortune, damning the time that ever she dissuaded 
the gathering of power about the king, gat herself in all 
haste possible, with her younger son and her daughters, out 
of the palace of Westminster, in which she then lay, into 
the sanctuary, lodging herself and her company there, in 
the abbot's place. 

Now came there one in likewise, not long after midnight, 
from the lord-chamberlain, unto the archbishop of York, 
then chancellor of England, to his place not far from West- 
minster. And for that he shewed his servants that he had 
tidings of so great importance, that his master gave him in 
charge not to forbear his rest, they letted not to wake him, 
nor he to admit this messenger in to his bed-side. Of whom 
he heard, that these dukes were gone back with the kino's 
grace from Stony Stratford unto Northampton. Notwith- 
standing, Sir, quoth he, my lord sendeth your lordship word, 
that there is no Jear; for he assureth you that all shall be 
well. I assure him, quoth the archbishop, be it as well as 
it will, it will never be so well as we have seen it. 

And thereupon, by and by, after the messenger departed, 
Vol. II. Z 

170 SIR T. MORE'S 

he caused in all haste all his servants to be called-up ; and 
so with his own household about him, and every man 
weaponed, he took the great seal with him, and came yet 
before day unto the queen. About whom he found much 
heaviness, rumble, haste, and business, carriage and con- 
veyance of her stuff into sanctuary, chests, coffers, packs, 
fardels, trusses, all on mens' backs, no man unoccupied, 
some lading, some going, some discharging, some coming 
for more, some breaking down the walls to bring in the next 
way, and some yet drew to them that help to carry a wrong 
way. The queen herself sat alone, alow on the rushes, all 
desolate and dismayed ; whom the archbishop comforted in 
the best manner he could, shewing her that he trusted the 
matter was nothing so sore as she took it for, and that he 
was put in good hope and out of fear, by the message sent 
him from the lord-chamberlain. 

Ah woe worthy him, quoth she, for he is one of them that 
laboureth to destroy me and my blood. Madam, quoth he, 
be you of good cheer ; for I assure you if they crown any 
other king than your son, whom they now have with them, we 
shall on the morrow crown his brother whom you have here 
with you. And here is the great seal, which in like wise as 
that noble prince your husband delivered it unto me, so here I 
deliver it unto you to the use and behoof of your son. And 
therewith he betook her the great seal, and departed home 
again yet in the dawning of the day. 

By which time he might, in his chamber window, see all 


the Thames full of boats of the duke of Gloucester's serv- 
ants, watching that no man should go to sanctuary, dot 
none could pass unsearched. Then was there great com- 
motion and murmur, as well in other places about as spe- 
cially in the city, the people diversly divining upon this 
dealing. And some lords, knights, and gentlemen, either 
for favour of the queen or for fear of themselves, assembled 
in sundry companies and went flockmeal in harness (arm- 
our); and many also, for that they reckoned this demean- 
our, attempted not so specially against the other lords, as 
against the king himself in the disturbance of his corona- 

But then by and by the lords assembled together at . 

Toward which meeting, the archbishop of York, fearing that 
it would be ascribed (as it was indeed) to his overmuch 
lightness, that he so suddenly had yielded-up the great 
seal to the queen, to whom the custody thereof nothing 
pertained without especial commandment of the king, se- 
cretly sent for the seal again, and brought it with him after 
the customable manner. And at this meeting, the Lord 
Hastings, whose truth toward the king no man doubted nor 
needed to doubt, persuaded the lords to believe that the 
duke of Gloucester was sure and fastly faithful to his prince; 
and that the Lord Rivers and Lord Richard, ith the other 
knights, were, for matters attempted by them against the 
dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, put under arrest for 
their surety, not for the king's jeopardy. And that they 
were also in safeguard, and there no longer should remain 

Z 2 

1 72 SIR T. MORE'S 

than till the matter were, not by the dukes only, but also 
by all the other lords of the king's council, indifferently 
examined, and by other discretions ordered and either judg- 
ed or appeased. 

But one thing he advised them beware, that they judged 
not the matter too far-forth ere they knew the truth ; nor, 
turning their private grudges into the common hurt, excit- 
ing and provoking men unto anger, and disturbing the 
king's coronation (toward which the dukes were coming up), 
that they might peradventure bring the matter so far out 
of joint, that it should never be brought in frame again. 
Which strife, if it should hap, as it were likely, to come 
to a field, though both parties were in all other things 
equal, yet should the authority be on that side where the 
king is himself. 

With these persuasions of the Lord Hastings, whereof 
part himself believed, of part he wist the contrary, these 
commotions were somewhat appeased. But specially by 
that, that the dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham were 
so near, and came so shortly on Avith the king, in none 
other manner, with none other voice or semblance, than to 
his coronation ; causing the fame to be blown about, that 
these lords and knights who were taken, had contrived the 
destruction of the dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, 
and of other the noble blood of the realm, to the end that 
themselves would alone demean and govern the king at 
their pleasure. 


And for the colourable proof thereof, such of the dukes 
servants as - rode with the carts of their stuff that were taken 
(among which stuff no marvail, though some were harness, 
which, at the breaking-up of that household, must needs 
either be brought away or cast away), they shewed unto 
the people all the way as they went ; lo here be the barrels 
of harness that these traitors had privily conveyed in their 
carriage, to destroy the noble lords withal. This device, al- 
beit that it made the matter to wise men more unlikely, 
well perceiving that the intenders of such a purpose would 
rather have had their harness on their backs than to have 
bound them up in barrels, yet much part of the common 
people were therewith very well satisfied, and said it were 
almoise to hang them. 

When the king approached near to the city, Edmund 
Sha, goldsmith, then mayor, with William White and John 
Mathewe, sheriffs, and all the other aldermen in scarlet, 
with five hundred horse of the citizens in violet, received 
him reverently at Hornsey; and riding from thence, accom- 
panied him into the city, which he entered the fourth day 
of May, the first and last year of his reign. But the duke 
of Gloucester bare him in open sight so reverently to the 
prince, Avith all semblance of lowliness, that from the great 
obloquy in which he was so late before, he was suddenly 
fallen in so great trust, that at the council next assembled, 
he was made the only man chose and thought most meet, to 
be protector of the king and his realm ; so that, were it des- 
tiny or were it folly, the lamb was betaken • f to keep. 

174 SIR T. MORE'S 

At which council also, the archbishop of York, chancel- 
lor of England, who had delivered up the great seal to the 
queen, was thereof greatly reproved, and the seal taken 
from him, and delivered to Doctor Russell, bishop of Lin- 
coln, a wise man and a good, and of much experience, 
and one of the best-learned men undoubtedly that England 
had in his time. Divers lords and knights were appointed 
unto divers rooms. The lord-chamberlain and some others, 
kept still their offices that they had before. 

Now, all were it so, that the protector so sore thirsted 
for the finishing of that he had begun, that he thought 
every day a year till it were atchieved, yet durst he no far- 
ther attempt as long as he had but half his prey in his 
hand. Well witting, that if he deposed the one brother,, 
all the realm would fall to the other, if he either remained 
in sanctuary, or should haply be shortly conveyed to his 
farther liberty. 

Wherefore incontinent, at the next meeting of the lords 
at the council, he proposed unto them, that it was a hein- 
ous deed of the queen, and proceeding of great malice to- 
ward the king's counsellors, that she should keep in sanc- 
tuary the king's brother from him, whose special pleasure 
and comfort were to have his brother with him ; and that 
by her done to none other intent, but to bring all the lords 
in obloquy and murmur of the people. As though they 
were not to be trusted with the king's brother, who, by the 
assent of the nobles of the land, were appointed, as the 


king's nearest friends, to the tuition of his own royal per- 

' The prosperity whereof standeth,' quoth he, ' not all 
in keeping from enemies or ill viand, but partly also in re- 
creation and moderate pleasure ; which lie cannot in this 
tender youth take in the company of ancient persons, but 
in the familiar conversation of those who be neither far un- 
der nor far above his age, and nevertheless of estate con- 
venient to accompany his noble majesty. Wherefore with 
whom rather than with his own brother ? And if any man 
think this consideration (which I think no man thinketh 
Avho loveth the king) let him consider, that sometimes with- 
out small things greater cannot stand. And verily it re- 
doundeth greatly to the dishonour, both of the king's high- 
ness and of all us who be about his grace, to have it run in 
every man's mouth, not in this realm only, but also in other 
lands (as evil words walk far), that the king's brother should 
be fain to keep sanctuary. For every man will ween, that 
no man will so do for nought ; and such evil opinion, once 
fastened in men's hearts, hard it is to wrest out, and may 
grow to more grief than any man here can divine. 

' Wherefore methinketb, it were not worst, to send un- 
to the queen, for the redress of this matter, some honour- 
able trusty man, such as both tendereth the king's weal and 
the honour of his council, and is also in favour and cre- 
dence with her. For all which considerations, none seem- 
eth me more meetly, than our reverend father here pre- 

176 SIR T. MORE'S 

sent, my lord cardinal, who may in this matter do most 
o-ood of any man, if it please him to take the pain. Which, 
I doubt not, of his goodness he will not refuse, for the 
king's sake and ours, and wealth of the young duke him- 
self, the king's most honourable brother, and, after my 
sovereign lord himself, my most dear nephew ; considered, 
that thereby shall be ceased the slanderous rumour and 
obloquy now going, and the hurts avoided that thereof 
might ensue, and much rest and quiet grow to all the 

* And if she be percase so obstinate, and so precisely 
set upon her own will, that neither his wise and faithful ad- 
vertisement can move her, nor any man's reason content 
her ; then shall we, by mine advice, by the king's autho- 
rity fetch him out of that prison, and bring him to his noble 
presence. In whose continual company he shall be so well 
cherished and so honourably entreated, that all the world 
shall, to our honour and her reproach, perceive that it was 
only malice, frowardness or folly, that caused her to keep 
him there. This is my mind in this matter for this time, 
except any of your lordships any thing perceive to the con- 
trary. For never shall I, by God's grace, so wed myself 
to mine own will, but that I shall be ready to change it 
upon your better advices/ 

When the protector had said, all the council affirmed 
that the motion was good and reasonable, and to the king 
and the duke his brother honourable, and a thing that should 


cease great murmur in the realm, if the mother might be 
by good means induced to deliver him. Which thing the 
archbishop of York, whom they all agreed also to be there- 
to most convenient, took upon him to move her, and there- 
in to do his uttermost endeavour. Howbeit, if she could 
be in nowise entreated, with her good will to deliver him, 
then thought he and such other as were of the spiritualty 
present, that it were not in anywise to be attempted to 
take him out against her will. For it would be a thing that 
should turn to the great grudge of all men, and high dis- 
pleasure of God, if the privilegeof that holy place should 
now be broken ; which had so many years been kept, which 
both kings and popes so good had granted, so many had 
confirmed, and which holy ground was, more than five hun- 
dred years ago, by S\ Peter, his own person in spirit, 
accompanied with great multitude of angels, by night so 
specially hallowed and dedicated to God (for the proof 
whereof, they have yet in the abbey S'. Peter's cope to 
shew), that from that time hitherward, Mas there never so 
undevout a king that durst that sacred place violate, or so 
holy a bishop that durst it presume to consecrate. 

' And therefore,' quoth the archbishop of York, ' God 
forbid that any man should, for any thing earthly, enter- 
prise to break the immunity and liberty of that sacred 
sanctuary, which hath been the safeguard of so many a 
good man's life. And I trust,' quoth he, ' with God's 
grace we shall not need it. But, for any manner of need, 
I would not we should do it. I trust that she shall be with 

Vol. II. A a 

178 SIR T. MORE'S 

reason contented and all things in good manner obtained. 
And it* it happen that I bring it not so to pass, yet shall I 
toward it so far forth do ray best, that ye shall all well per- 
ceive, that no lack of my endeavour, but the mother's dread 
and womanish fear, shall be the let/ 

' Womanish fear, nay, womanish frowardness/ quoth the 
duke of Buckingham. ' For I dare take it upon my soul, 
she well knoweth she needeth no such thing to fear, either 
for her son or for herself. For as for her, here is no man 
who will be at war with women. Would God some of the 
men of her kin were women too, and then should all be 
soon in rest ! Howbeit there is none of her kin the less 
loved for that they be her kin, but for their own evil de- 
serving. And, nevertheless, if we loved neither her nor 
her kin, yet were there no cause to think that we should 
hate the king's noble brother, to whose Grace Ave ourselves 
be of kin. Whose honour if she as much desired as our 
dishonour, and as much regard took to his wealth as to her 
own will, she would be as loath to suffer him from the king 
as any of us be. For, if she have any wit (as would God 
she had as good will as she hath shrewd wit), she reckoneth 
herself no wiser than she thinkcth some that be here ; of 
whose faithful mind she nothing doubteth, but verily be- 
lieveth and knoweth, that they would be as sorry of his 
harm as herself, and yet would have him from her if she 
abide there ; and were all (I think) content, that both be 
with her, if she come thence and abide in such place where 
they may with their honour be. 


' Now then if she refuse, in the deliverance of him, to 
follow the counsel of them whose wisdom she knowcth, 
whose truth she well trusteth, it is easy to perceive, that 
frowardness letteth her and not fear. But go to suppose 
that she fear (as who may let her to fear her own shadow), 
the more she feareth to deliver him, the more ought we to 
fear to leave him in her hands. For if she cast such fond 
doubts, that she fear his hurt, then will she fear that he 
shall be fetched thence. For she will soon think, that if 
men were set (which God forbid!) upon so great a mischief, 
the sanctuary would little let them ; which good men might, 
as methinketh, without sin, somewhat less regard than 
they do. 

' Now then if she doubt lest he might be fetched from 
her, is it not likely enough, that she shall send him some- 
where out of the realm ? Verily I look for none other. And 
I doubt not but she now as sore mindeth it, as we the let 
thereof. And if she might happen to bring that to pass (as 
it were no great mastery, we letting her alone) all the world 
would say that we were a wise sort of counsellors about a 
king, who let his brother be cast-away under our noses. 
And therefore I ensure you faithfulty, for my mind, I will 
rather, maugre her mind, fetch him away, than leave him 
there till her frowardness or fond fear convey him away. 

' And yet will I break no sanctuary therefore. For ve- 
rily, since the privileges of that place and otherlike have 
been of long continued, I am not he who would be about 

A a2 


to break them. And in good faith, if they were now to 
begin, I would not be lie who should be about to make 
them. Yet will I not say nay, but that it is a deed of pity, 
that such men as the sea or their evil debtors have brought 
in poverty, should have some place of liberty to keep their 
bodies out of the danger of their cruel creditors. And also, 
if the crown happen (as it hath done) to come in question, 
while either party taketh other as traitors, I will well there 
be some places of refuge for both. 

' But as for thieves, of which these places be full, and 
which never fall from the craft after they once fall thereto, 
it is pity the sanctuary should serve them. And much more 
mankillers, whom God bad to take from the altar and kill 
them if their murder were wilful. And where it is other- 
wise, there need we not the sanctuaries which God appoint- 
ed in the old law ; for, if either necessity, own defence, 
or misfortune, draw him to that deed, a pardon serveth, 
which either the law granteth of course, or the king of 
pity may. 

1 Then look me now how few sanctuary-men there be, 
whom any favourable necessity compelled to go thither ; 
and then see on the other side, what a sort there be com- 
monly therein of them Avhom wilful unthriftyness hath 
brought to nought. What a rabble of thieves, murderers, 
and malicious, heinous traitors ; and that in two places 
specially ; the one at the elbow of the city, the other in 
the very bowels. I dare well avow it, weigh the good that 


they do with the hurt that cometh of them, and ye shall 
find it much better to lack both than have both. And this 
I say, although they were not abused as they now be ami 
so long have been, that 1 fear me ever they will be, while 
men be afraid to set their hands to the amendment ; as 
though Cod and S\ Peter were the patrons of ungracious 

' Now, un thrifts riot and run in debt, upon the bold- 
ness of these placer ; yea, and rich men run thither with 
poor mens' goods. There they build, there they spend, and 
bid their creditors go whistle them. Men's wives run thi- 
ther with their husbands' plate, and say they dare not abide 
with their husbands for beating. Thieves bring thither then- 
stolen goods, and there live thereon. There devise they 
new robberies, nightly they steal out, they rob, and reave, 
and kill, and come in again, as though those places gave 
them not only a safeguard for the harm they have dono 
but a licence also to do more. Howbeit much of this mis- 
chief, if wise men would set their hands to it, might be 
amended, with great thank of God and no breach of the 

* The residue, since so long ago I wot neither what pope 
and what prince (more piteous than politic) hath granted 
it, and other men since of a certain religious fear have not 
broken it, let us take a pain therewith, and let it a God's 
name stand in force as far forth as reason will. Which is 
not fully so far forth, as may serve to let us of the fetching 

182 SIR T. MORE'S 

forth of this nobleman to his honour and wealth, out of 
that place in which he neither is nor can be a sanctuary- 

' A sanctuary serveth alway to defend the body of that 
man who standeth in danger abroad, not of great hurt on- 
ly, but also of lawful hurt. For, against unlawful harms* 
never pope nor king intended to privilege any one place ; 
for that privilege hath every place. Knoweth any man any 
place, wherein it is lawful one man to do another wrong ? 
That no man unlawfully take hurt, that, liberty, the king, 
the law, and very nature, forbiddeth in every place, and 
maketh to that regard, for every man every place a sanc- 
tuary. But where a man is by lawful means in peril, there 
needeth he the tuition of some special privilege ; which is 
the only ground and cause of all sanctuaries. From which 
necessity, this noble prince is far ; whose love to his king, 
nature and kindred proveth ; whose innocence to all the 
world, his tender youth proveth. 

' And so sanctuary as for him, neither none he needeth 
nor also none can have. Men come not to sanctuary as 
they come to baptism, to require it by their godfathers. He 
must ask it himself that must have it ; and with reason ; 
since no man hath cause to have it but whose conscience 
of his own fault maketh him feign need to require it. What 
will then hath yonder babe ? Who, and if he had discretion 
to require it if need were, I dare say, would now be right 
angry with them who keep him there. And I would think, 


without any scruple of conscience, without any breach of 
privilege, to be somewhat more homely with them who be 
there sanctuary-men indeed. For it* one go to sanctuary 
with another man's goods, why should not the king, leav- 
ing his body at liberty, satisfy the part of his goods even 
within the sanctuary ? for neither king nor pope can give 
any place such a privilege, that it shall discharge a man of 
his debts, being able to pay/ 

And with that, divers of the clergy who were present, 
whether they said it for his pleasure or as they thought, 
agreed plainly, that by the law of God and of the church, 
the goods of a sanctuary-man should be delivered in pay- 
ment of his debts, and stolen goods to the owner, and on- 
ly liberty reserved him to get his living with the labour of 
his hands. 

a Verily/ quoth the duke, ' I think ye say very truth. 
And what if a man's wife will take sanctuary because she 
list to run from her husband, I would ween, if she can al- 
lege none other cause, he may lawfully, without any dis- 
pleasure to S'. Peter, take her out of S*. Peter's church by 
the arm. And if nobody may be taken out of sanctuary 
that saith he will abide there, then if a child will take sanc- 
tuary because he feareth to go to school, his master must 
let him alone. And as simple as that example is, yet is 
there less reason in our case than in that. For therein, 
though it be a childish fear, yet is there at the leastwise 
.some fear; and herein is there none at all. And verily, I 


have often heard of sanctuary-men, but I never heard erst 
of sanctuary-children. 

' And therefore, as for the conclusion of my mind, who- 
so may have deserved to need it, if they think it for their 
surety, let them keep it. But he can be no sanctuary-man 
who neither hath wisdom to desire it, nor malice to deserve 
it ; whose life or liberty can by no lawful process stand in 
jeopardy. And he who taketh one out of sanctuary to do 
him good, I say plainly that he breaketh no sanctuary/ j 

When the duke had done, the temporal men wholly, and 
good part of the spiritual also, thinking none hurt earthly 
meant toward the young babe, condescended in effect, that 
if he were not delivered he should be fetched. Howbeit 
they thought it all best, in the avoiding of all manner of 
rumour, that the lord cardinal should first essay to get him 
with her good-will ; and thereupon all the council came un- 
to the star-chamber at Westminster. And the lord cardinal, 
leaving the protector with the council in the star-chamber, 
departed into the sanctuary to the queen, with divers other 
lords with him ; were it for the respect of his honour, or 
that she should, by presence of so many, perceive that this 
errand was not one man's mind ; or were it for that the 
protector intended not in this matter to trust any one man 
alone ; or else, that if she finally were determined to keep 
him, some of that company had haply secret instruction, 
incontinent maugre his mind, to take him, and to leave 
her no respite to convey him, which she was likely to mind 


after this matter broken to her if her time would in any- 
wise serve her. 

When the queen and these lords were come together in 
presence, the lord cardinal shewed unto her, that it was 
thought unto the protector and unto the whole council, that 
her keeping of the king's brother in that place was the thing 
Avhich highly sounded, not only to ihe great rumour of the 
people and their obloquy, but also to the insupportable grief 
and displeasure of the king's royal majesty. To whose 
Grace it were as singular comfort to have his natural bro- 
ther in company, as it was their both dishonour, and all 
theirs and hers also, to suffer him in sanctuary ; as though 
the one brother stood in danger and peril of the other. 

And he shewed her, that the council therefore had sent 
him unto her, to require her the delivery of him ; that he 
might be brought unto the king's presence at his liberty, 
out of that place which they reckoned as a prison, and 
there should he be demeaned according to his estate. And 
she in this doing, should both do great good to the realm, 
pleasure to the council and profit to herself, succour to her 
friends who were in distress, and over that (which he wist 
well she specially tendered), not only great comfort and 
honour to the king, but also to the young duke himself. 
Whose both great wealth it were to be together, as well for 
many greater causes, as also for their both disport and re- 
creation. Which thing the lords esteemed no slight, though 
it seem light ; well pondering that their youth without re- 

Vol. II. B b 


creation and play cannot endure, nor any stranger for the 
convenience of their both ages and estates so metely in that 
point for any of them, as either of them for other. 

' My lord,' quoth the queen, ' I say not nay but that it 
were very convenient, that this gentleman whom you re- 
quire, were in the company of the king his brother. And 
in good faith methinketh, it were as great commodity to 
them both, as for yet a while, to be in the custody of their 
mother, the tender age considered of the elder of them 
both, but specially the younger. Who, beside his infancy 
that also needeth good looking-to, hath a while been so sore 
diseased, vexed with sickness, and is so newly rather a little 
amended than well recovered, that I dare put no person 
eartlily in trust with his keeping but myself only. Con- 
sidering that there is, as physicians say, and as we also 
find, double the peril in the recidivation that was in the 
first sickness ; with which disease nature being fore-labour- 
ed, fore-wearied and weakened, waxeth the less able to 
bear-out a new surfeit. And albeit there might be founden 
others who would haply do their best unto him, yet is 
there none who either knoweth better how to order him 
than I who so long have kept him, or is more tenderly like 
to cherish him than his own mother who bare him/ 

* No man denieth, good madam,' quoth the cardinal, 
* but that your Grace were of all folk most necessary about 
3 r our children. And so would all the council not only be 
content, but also glad that you were, if it might stand with 


your pleasure to be in such place as might stand with their 
honour. But if you appoint yourself to tarry here, then 
think they yet more convenient, that the duke of York 
were with the king honourably at his liberty, to the com- 
fort of them both, than here as a sanctuary-man to their 
both dishonour and obloquy. Since there is not alway so 
great necessity to have the child be with the mother, but 
that occasion may sometime be such, that it should be 
more expedient to keep him elsewhere. Which in this well 
appeareth ; that at such time as your dearest son, then 
prince and now king, should, for his honour and good or- 
der of the country, keep household in Wales, far out of 
your company, your Grace was well content therewith your- 

1 Not very well content,' quoth the queen, * and yet the 
case is not like. For the one was then in health, and the 
other is now sick. In which case I marvel greatly that my 
lord protector is so desirous to have him in his keeping, 
where, if the child in his sickness miscarried by nature, yet 
might he run into slander and suspicion of fraud. And 
where they call it a thing so sore against my child's honour 
and theirs also, that he abideth in tins place, it is all their 
honours there to sutler him abide, where no man doubteth 
he shall be best kept. And that is here, while I am here ; 
who as yet intend not to come forth and jeopard myself af- 
ter other of my friends, who would God were rather here 
in surety with me than I were there in jeopardy with 
them !' 

188 SIR T. MORE'S 

* Why madam,' quoth another lord, ' know you any 
thing why they should be in jeopardy ?' 

* Nay, verily, sir/ quoth she, ' nor why they should be in 
prison neither, as they now be. But it is I trow no great 
marvel, though I fear, lest those who have not letted to put 
them in durance without colour, will let as little to procure 
their destruction without cause/ 

The cardinal made a countenance to the other lord, that 
he should harp no more upon that string. And then said 
he to the queen, that he nothing doubted, but that those 
lords of her honourable kin, who as yet remained under ar- 
rest, should, upon the matter examined, do well enough. 
And as toward her noble person, neither was there nor could 
be, any manner of jeopardy. 

* Whereby should I trust that/ quoth the queen. ' In 
that I am guiltless ? — as though they were guilty ; in that I 
am with their enemies better beloved than they ? — when 
they hate them for my sake ; in that I am so near of kin 
to the king ? — and how far be they off, if that Avould help, 
as God send grace it hurt not! And therefore as for me, I 
purpose not as yet to depart hence. And as for this gentle- 
man my son, I mind that he shall be where I am till I see 
farther. For I assure you, for that I see some men so 
greedy, without any substantial cause, to have him, this 
maketh me much the more farther to deliver him/ 


' Truly madam,' quoth he, ' and the farther that you be 
to deliver him, the farther be other men to suffer you to 
-keep him, lest your causeless fear might cause you farther 
to convey him. And many be there who think, that he 
can have no privilege in this place, who neither can have 
will to ask it nor malice to deserve it. And therefore they 
reckon no privilege broken though they fetch him out ; 
which, if you finally refuse to deliver him, I verily think 
they will. So much dread hath my lord his uncle, for the 
tender love he beareth him, lest your Grace should hap to 
send him away/ 

" Ah sir,' quoth the queen, ' hath the protector so tend- 
er zeal to him, that he feareth nothing but lest he should 
escape him ? Thinketh he that I would send him hence, 
who neither is in the plight to send out, and in what place 
could I reckon him sure if he be not sure in this, the sanc- 
tuary whereof was there never tyrant yet so devilish that 
durst presume to break ? And I trust God as strong now to 
withstand his adversaries as ever he was ! But my son can 
deserve no sanctuary, and therefore he cannot have it ; for- 
sooth he hath founden a goodly gloss by which that place 
that may defend a thief may not save an innocent ! But 
he is in no jeopardy nor hath no need thereof; would God 
he had not ! Troweth the protector (I pray God he may 
prove a protector !) troweth he that I perceive not where- 
unto his painted process draweth ? 

f It is not honourable that the duke abide here ; it were 

190 alR T. MOKE'S 

comfortable for them both that he were with his brother, 
because the king lacketh a playfellow be ye sure. I pray 
God send them both better playfellows than him, who mak- 
eth so high a matter upon such a trifling pretext, As though 
there could none be founden to play with the king, but if 
his brother, who hath no lust to play for sickness, come 
out of sanctuary, out of his safeguard, to play with him !. 
As though princes as young as they be could not play but 
with their peers, or children could not play but with their 
kindred, with whom for the more part they agree much 
worse than with strangers! But the child cannot require the 
privilege ; who told him so ? he shall hear him ask it an he 

4 Howbeit this is a gay matter. Suppose he could not 
ask it, suppose he would not ask it, suppose he would ask 
to go out, if I say he shall not, if I ask the privilege but 
for myself, I say he who against my will taketh out him 
breaketh the sanctuary. Serveth this liberty for my person 
only, or for my goods too ? Ye may not hence take my 
horse from me, and may ye take my child from me ? He is 
also my ward ; for, as my learned counsel sheweth me,, 
since he hath nothing by descent holden by knight's service, 
the law maketh his mother his guardian. Then may no man 
I suppose take my ward from me out of sanctuary, with- 
out the breach of the sanctuary. And if my privilege could 
not serve him, nor he ask it ibr himself, yet since the law 
committeth to me the custody of him, I may require it for 
him ; except the law give a child a guardian only for his 


goods and his lands, discharging- him of the cure and safe- 
keeping of iiis body, for winch only both lands and goods 

* And if examples be sufficient to obtain privilege for my 
child, I need not far to seek. For in this place in which 
we now be, and which is now in question whether my child 
may take benefit of it, mine other son, now king, was born, 
and kept in his cradle, and preserved to a more prosperous 
fortune, which I pray God long to continue. And, as an 
ye know, this is not the first time that I have taken sanc- 
tuary. For, when my lord my husband was banished and 
thrust out of his kingdom, I fled hither, being great with 
child, and here I bare the prince. And when my lord my 
husband returned safe again and had the victory, then went 
I hence to welcome him home, and from hence I brought 
my babe, the prince, unto his father, when he first took 
him in his arms. And I pray God that my son's palace may 
be as great safeguard to him now reigning, as this place was 
sometime to the king's enemy. In which place I entered to 
keep his brother since. 

i Wherefore, here intend I to keep him, since man's law 
serveth the guardian to keep the infant. The law of na- 
ture wills the mother keep her child. God's law privilegeth 
the sanctuary, and the sanctuary my son ; since I fear to 
put him in the protector's hands, who hath his brother al- 
ready, and were, if both failed, inheritor to the crown. The 
cause of my fear hath no man to do to examine. And yet 

193 SIR T. MORE'S 

fear I no farther than the law feareth ; which, as learned 
men tell me, forbiddeth every man the custody of them by 
whose death he may inherit less land than a kingdom. I 
can no more. But whosoever he be who breaketh this holy 
sanctuary, I pray God shortly send him need of sanctuary 
when he may not come to it ; for, taken out of sanctuary, 
would I not my mortal enemy were/ 

The lord cardinal perceiving that the queen waxed ever 
the longer the farther off, and also that she began to kindle 
and chafe, and speak sore biting words against the protect- 
or, and such as he neither believed and was also loath to 
hear, he said unto her for a final conclusion, that he would 
no longer dispute the matter. But if she were content to 
deliver the duke to him and to the other lords there present, 
he durst lay his own body and soul both in pledge, not on- 
ly for his surety but also for his estate. And if she would 
give them a resolute answer to the contrary, he would forth- 
with depart therewithal, and shift whoso would with this 
business afterward ; for he never intended more to move 
her in the matter, in which she thought that he and all 
other also save herself, lacked either wit or truth. AVit, if 
they were so dull that they could nothing perceive what the 
protector intended ; truth, if they should procure her son 
to be delivered into his hands, in whom they should per- 
reive toward the child any evil intended. 

The queen with these words stood a good while in a 
great study. And, forasmuch her seemed the cardinal more 


*eady to depart than some of the remnant, and the pro- 
tector himself ready at hand, so that she verily thought 
she could not keep him there, but that he should incon- 
tinent be taken thence ; and to convey him elsewhere nei- 
ther had she time to serve her, nor place determined, nor 
persons appointed, all things unready ; this message came 
on her so suddenly, nothing less looking-for than to have 
him fetched out of sanctuary, which she thought to be now 
beset in such places about that he could not be conveyed- 
out untaken ; and partly, as she thought it might fortune 
her fear to be false, so well she wist it was either needless 
or bootless ; wherefore, if she should needs go from him, 
she deemed it best to deliver him. And over that, of the 
cardinal's faith she nothing doubted, nor of some other lords 
neither whom she there saw ; who, as she feared lest they 
might be deceived, so was she well assured they would not 
be corrupted. Then thought she, it should yet make them 
the more warily to look to him and the more circumspect- 
ly to see to his surety, if she with her own hands betook 
him to them of trust. And at the last, she took the vouno- 
duke by the hand, and said unto the lords, 

' My lord/ quoth she, ' and all my lords, I neither am 
so unwise to mistrust your wits, nor so suspicious to mis- 
trust your truths. Of which thing I purpose to make you 
such a proof, as, if either of both lacked in you, might 
turn both me to great sorrow, the realm to much harm, and 
you to great reproach. For lo here is,' quoth she, ' this 
gentleman, whom I doubt not but I could here keep safe 

Vol. II. C c 

194 SIR T. MORE'S 

if I would, whatsoever any man say. And I doubt not 
also but there be some abroad so deadly enemies unto my 
blood, that if they wist where any of it lay in their own 
body, tliey would let it out. We have also had experience, 
that the desire of a kingdom knoweth no kindred. The 
brother hath been the brother's bane ; and may the nephews 
be sure of their uncle ? Each of these children is other's 
defence while they be asunder, and each of their lives lieth 
in the other's body. Keep one safe, and both be sure ; and 
nothing for them both more perilous, than to be both in 
one place. For what wise merchant adventureth all his 
good in one ship ? 

' All this notwithstanding, here I deliver him, and his 
brother in him, to keep into your hands ; of whom I shall 
ask them both afore God and the world. Faithful ye be, 
that wot I well ; and I know well, ye be wise. Power and 
strength to keep him if ye list, neither lack ye of yourselves, 
nor can lack help in this cause. And if ye cannot else- 
where, then may ye leave him here. But only one thing 
I beseech ye, for the trust that his father put in ye ever, 
and for the trust that I put in ye now, that as far as ye 
think that I fear too much, be ye well aware that ye fear 
not as far too little/ 

And therewithal she said unto the child, farewell my own 
sweet son, God send you good keeping, let me kiss yon once 
i/et ere you go, for God knoweth when zee shall kiss together 
again. And therewith she kissed him and blessed him, 


turned her back and wept and went her way, leaving the 
child weeping as fast. 

When the lord cardinal, and these other lords with him, 
had received this young duke, they brought him into the 
star-chamber, where the protector took him into his arms 
and kissed him with these words, nov welcome my lord ever 
with all my very heart; and he said in that, of likelihood, 
as he thought. Thereupon forthwith they brought him to 
the king, his brother, into the bishop's palace, at Paul's ; 
and from thence through the city honourably into the 
Tower, out of which after that day they never came 

When the protector had both the children in his hands, 
he opened himself more boldly, both to certain other men, 
and also chiefly to the duke of Buckingham. Although I 
know that many thought that this duke was privy to all the 
protector's counsel even from the beginning ; and some of 
the protector's friends said, that the duke was the first mover 
of the protector to this matter, sending a privy messenger 
to him straight after King Edward's death ; but others 
again, who knew better the subtle wit of the protector, 
deny that he ever opened his enterprise to the duke, until 
he had brought to pass the things before rehearsed. But 
when he had imprisoned the queen's kinsfolks, and gotten 
both her sons into his own hands, then he opened the rest 
of his purpose with less fear, to them whom he thought 
meet for the matter, and specially to the duke, who being 

Cc 2. 

■196 SIR T. MORE'S 

won to his purpose, he thought his strength more than half 

The matter was broken unto the duke by subtle folks, 
and such as were their craft-masters in the handling: of such 
wicked devices. Who declared unto him, that the young 
king was offended with him for his kinsfolks' sakes, and 
that if he were ever able he would revenge them. Who 
would prick him forward thereunto if they escaped, for 
they would remember their imprisonment ; or else if they 
were put to death, without doubt the young king would be 
careful for their deaths whose imprisonment was grievous 
unto him. And that with repenting the duke should no- 
thing avail. For there was no way left to redeem his of- 
fence by benefits, but he should sooner destroy himself 
than save the king; who, with his brother and his kinsfolks, 
he saw in such places imprisoned, as the protector might 
with a beck destroy them all ; and that it were no doubt 
but he would do it indeed, if there were any new enter- 
prise attempted. And that it was likely, that as the pro- 
tector had provided privy guard for himself, so had he spials 
for the duke and trains to catch him, if he should be against 
him ; and that peradventure from them whom he least sus- 
pected. For the state of things and the dispositions of 
men were then such, that a man could not well tell whom 
he might trust or whom he might fear. 

These things and such like being beaten into the duke's 
mind, brought him to that point, that where he had repent- 


ed the way that he had entered, yet would lie go forth in 
the same ; and since he had once begun, he would stoutly 
go through. And therefore to this wicked enterprise, which 
he believed could not be avoided, he bent himself and went 
through ; and determined, that since the common mischief 
could not be amended, he would turn it as much as he might 
to his own commodity. 

Then it was agreed, that the protector should have the 
duke's aid to make him king ; and that the protector's on- 
ly lawful son should many the duke's daughter ; and that 
the protector should grant him the quiet possession of the 
earldom of Hertford, which he claimed as his inheritance, 
and could never obtain it in King Edward's time. Beside 
these requests of the duke, the protector, of his own mind, 
promised him a great quantity of the king's treasure and 
of his household stuff. 

And when they were thus at a point between themselves, 
they went about to prepare for the coronation of the young 
king, as they would have it seem. And that they might 
turn both the eyes and minds of men from perceiving of 
their drifts otherwhere, the lords, being sent for from all 
parts of the realm, came thick to that solemnity. But the 
protector and the duke, after that they had set the lord 
cardinal, the archbishop of York, then lord-chancellor, the 
bishop of Ely, the Lord Stanley, and the Lord Hastings, 
then lord-chamberlain, with many other noblemen, to com- 
mune and devise about the coronation in one place, as fast 

198 SIR T. MORE'S 

were they in another place contriving the contrary, and to 
make the protector king. 

To which counsel albeit there were adhibit very few, and 
they very secret, yet began there, here and there about, 
some maimer of muttering among the people, as though all 
should not long be well, though they neither wist what they 
feared nor wherefore ; were it that, before such great things 
men's hearts of a secret instinct of nature misgive them, as 
the sea without wind swelleth of itself sometime before a 
tempest ; or were it that, some one man haply somewhat 
perceiving, filled many men with suspicion, though he 
shewed few men what he knew. Howbeit somewhat the 
dealing itself made men to muse on the matter, though the 
council were close. For, by little and little, all folk with- 
drew from the Tower, and drew to Crosbie's-place in Bishops- 
gate-street, where the protector kept his household. The 
protector had the resort, the king in a manner desolate. 
While some for their business made suit to them who had 
the doing, some were by their friends secretly warned, that 
it might haply turn them to no good, to be too much at- 
tendant about the king, without the protector's appoint- 
ment. Who removed also divers of the prince's old serv- 
ants from him, and set new about him. 

Thus many things coming together, partly by chance, 
partly of purpose, caused at length, not common people on- 
ly, who wave with the wind, but wise men also, and some 
lords eke, to mark the matter and muse thereon. So far 


forth that the Lord Stanley, who was afterward earl of 
Derby, wisely mistrusted it, and said unto the Lord Hast- 
ings, that he much misliked these two several councils. 
' Tor while we,' quoth he, * talk of one matter in the one 
place, little wot we whereof they talk in the other place.' 

' My lord,' quoth the Lord Hastings, ' on my life never 
doubt you. For, while one man is there, who is never 
thence, never can there be thing once minded that should 
sound amiss toward me, but it should be in my ears ere it 
were well out of their mouths.' 

This meant he by Catesby, who was of his near secret 
counsels, and whom he very familiarly used, and in his most 
weighty matters put no man in so special trust, reckoning 
himself to no man so lief. Since he well wist, there Avas 
no man to him so much beholden as was this Catesby ; who 
was a man well learned in the laws of this land, and, by 
the special favour of the lord-chamberlain, in good autho- 
rity, and much rule bare in all the county of Leicester, 
where the lord-chamberlain's power chiefly lay. But surely 
great pity was it, that he had not had either more truth or 
less wit ; for his dissimulation only kept all that mischief 
up. In whom, if the Lord Hastings had not put so special 
trust, the Lord Stanley and he had departed with divers 
other lords, and broken all the dance, for many ill signs 
that he saw, which he now construes all to the best ; so 
surely thought he that there could be none harm toward 
him in that council intended, where Catesbv was. 

200 SIR T. MORE'S 

And of truth the protector and the duke of Buckingham 
made very good semblance unto the Lord Hastings, and 
kept him much in company. And undoubtedly the pro- 
tector loved him well, and loath was to have lost him, sav- 
ing for fear lest his life should have quailed their purpose. 
For which cause he moved Catesby to prove, with some 
words cast-out a far off, whether he could think it possible 
to win the Lord Hastings into their party. But Catesby, 
whether he assayed him or assayed him not, reported unto 
them, that he found him so fast, and heard him speak so 
terrible words, that he durst no farther break. And of 
truth the lord-chamberlain, of very trust, shewed unto 
Catesby the mistrust that others began to have in the mat- 
ter. And therefore, he fearing lest their motions might 
with the Lord Hastings minish his credence, whereunto 
only all the matter leaned, procured the protector hastily 
to rid him. And much the rather, for that he trusted by 
his death, to obtain much of the rule which the Lord Hast- 
ings bare in his country ; the only desire whereof, was the 
elective which induced him to be partner and one special 
contriver of all this horrible treason. 

Whereupon soon after, that is, to-wit, on the Friday the 
day of many lords assembled in the Tower, 

and there sat in council, devising the honourable solemnity 
of the king's coronation, of which the time appointed then 
so near approached, that the pageants and subtelties were 
in making day and night at Westminster, and much victual 
killed therefore that, afterward was cast awav. These lordss 


so sitting together, communing of this matter, the protector 
came in among them, first about nine of the clock, salut- 
ing them courteously, and excusing himself that he had 
been from them so long, saying merrily that he had been 
asleep that day. And after a little talking with them, he 
said unto the bishop of Ely, my lord you have very good 
strawberries at your garden in Ilolborn, I require you let us 
have a mess of them. Gladly my lord, quoth he, would God, 
I had some better thing as ready to your pleasure as that ; and 
therewith in all haste he sent his servant for a mess of straw- 

The protector set the lords fast in communing, and there- 
upon praying them to spare him for a little while, departed 
thence. And soon after one hour, between 10 and 11, lie 
returned into the chamber among them, all changed, with 
a wonderful sour, angry countenance, knitting the brows, 
frowning and frothing and gnawing on his lips ; and so sat 
liim down in his place, all the lords much dismayed and 
sore marvelling of this manner of sudden change, and what 
thing should him ail. 


Then, when he had sitten still a while, thus he began ; 
what were they worthy to have, that compass and imagine 
the destruction of me, being so near of blood unto the 
king, and protector of his royal person and his realm ? At 
this question all the lords sat sore astonished, musing much 
by whom this question should be meant, of which every 
man wist himself clear. Then the lord-chamberlain, as he 

Vol. IT. D d 

208 SIR T. MORE'S 

who for the love between them thought he might be boldest 
with him, answered, and said that they were worthy to be 
punished as heinous traitors whoever they were. And all 
the others affirmed the same. That is (quoth he) yonder 
sorceress, my brother's wife, and another with Iter, meaning 
the queen. 

At these words, many of the other lords were greatly 
abashed who favoured her. But the Lord Hastings was in 
his mind better content, that it was moved by her, than by 
any other whom he loved better. Albeit his heart some- 
what grudged, that he was not before made of counsel in 
this matter, as he was of the taking of her kindred and of 
their putting to death ; who were, by his assent before, de- 
vised to be beheaded at Ponifret this self same day, on 
which he was not aware that it was by others devised, that 
himself should the same day be beheaded at London. 

Then said the protector, ye shall all see in what wise that 
sorcei'ess, and that other witch of her counsel, Shore's wife, 
with their affinity, have by their sorcery and witchcraft wasU 
ed my body. And thereAvith he plucked-up his doublet- 
sleeve to his elbow, upon his left arm, where he shewed a 
werish withered arm and small, as it was never other. And 
thereupon every man's mind sore misgave him, well perceiv- 
ing that this matter was but a quarrel. For well they wist, 
that the queen was too wise to go about any such folly. 
And also, if she would, yet would she, of all folk, least 
make Shore's wile of counsel, whom of all women she 

RICHARD Ilf. 203 

most hated, as that concubine whom the king her husband 
had most loved. And also no man was there present but 
well knew, that his arm was ever such since his birth. 

Nevertheless the lord-chamberlain (who from the death 
of* King Edward kept Shore's wife, on whom he somewhat 
doted in the king's life, saving, as it is said, he that while 
forbare her of reverence toward his king, or else of a cer- 
tain kind of fidelity to his friend), answered, and said, 
certainly my lord, if they have so heinously done, they be 
worthy heinous punishment. 

What, quoth the protector, thou servest me I ween with 
ifs and with ands; I tell thee they have so done, and that I 
will make good on thy body, traitor. And therewith, as in 
a great anger, he clapped his fist upon the board a great 
rap ; at which token given, one cried treason Avithout the 
chamber. Therewith a door clapped, and in came there 
rushing, men in harness as many as the chamber might 
hold. And anon the protector said to the Lord Hastings, 
I arrest thee traitor. What me my lord ? quoth he. Yea thee 
traitor, quoth the protector. And another let fly at the 
Lord Stanley, who shrunk at the stroke and fell under the 
table, or else his head had been cleft to the teeth ; for, as 
shortly as he shrank, yet ran the blood about his ears. 

Then were they all quickly bestowed in divers chambers; 
except the lord-chamberlain, whom the protector bad speed 
and shrive him apace, for by St. Paul, quoth he, I will not 


204 SIR T. MORE'S 

to dinner till I see thy head off. It booted him not to ask 
why ; but heavily he took a priest at adventure, and made 
a short shrift; for a longer would not be suffered, the pro- 
tector made so much haste to dinner, which he might not 
go to till this were done, for saving of his oath. So was he 
brought-forth into the green, beside the chapel within the 
Tower, and his head laid down upon a long log of timber, 
and there striken off ; and afterward his body with the head 
interred at Windsor, beside the body of King Edward ; 
whose both souls our Lord pardon ! 

A marvellous case is it to hear, either the warnings of 
that he should have avoided, or the tokens of that he could 
not avoid. For the self night next before his death, the 
Lord Stanley sent a trusty secret messenger unto him at 
midnight in all haste, requiring him to rise and ride away 
with him, for he was disposed utterly no longer to abide ; 
he had so fearful a dream, in which him thought, that a 
boar with his tusks so razed them both by the heads, that 
the blood ran about both their shoulders. And forasmuch 
as the protector gave the boar for his cognizance, this dream 
made so fearful an impression in his heart, that he was 
thoroughly determined no longer to tarry ; but had his 
horse ready, if the Lord Hastings would go with him, to 
ride so far yet that same night, that they should be out of 
danger ere day. 

* Ey good lord/ quoth the Lord Hastings to this mes- 
senger, ' lcaneth my lord thy master so much to such trifles, 


and hath such faith in dreams, which cither his own fear 
fantasieth, or do rise in the night's rest by reason of his 
day thoughts. Tell him it is plain witchcraft to believe in 
such dreams. Which if they Avere tokens of things to come, 
why thinketh he not, that avc might be as likely to make 
them true by our going, if avc Avcre caught and brought 
back (as friends fail fliers), for then had the boar a cause 
likely to raze us with his tusks, as folk Avho fled for some 
falsehood ? Wherefore either is there no peril, nor none 
there is indeed ; or if any be, it is rather in going than 
abiding. And if avc should needs-cost fall in peril one Avay 
or other, yet had I lever, that men should see it Avere by 
other men's falsehood, than think it were either our OAvn 
fault or faint heart. And therefore go to thy master, man, 
and commend me to him, and pray him be merry and have 
no fear ; for I insure him, I am as sure of the man that he 
Avoteth of, as I am of my OAvn hand/ 

Cod send grace, sir, quoth the messenger, and Avent his 

Certain is it also, that in the riding toward the ToAver, 
the same morning on Avhich he Avas beheaded, his horse twice 
or thrice stumbled Avith him almost to the falling. Which 
thing, albeit each man Avot well daily happeneth to them 
to whom no such mischance is toAvard, yet hath it been, of 
ttn old rite and custom, observed as a token, oftentimes 
notably foregoing some great misfortune. 


Now this that followeth was no warning, but an enem- 
ous scorn. The same morning, ere he were up, came a 
knight unto him, as it were of courtesy to accompany him 
to the council, but of truth sent by the protector to haste 
him thitherward, with whom he was of secret confederacy 
in that purpose ; a mean man at that time, and now of great 
authority. This knight, when it happened the lord-cham- 
berlain by the way, to stay his horse and commune a while 
with a priest, whom he met in the Tower-street, brake his 
tale and said merrily to him, what my lord, I pray you come- 
on, whereto talk you so long with that priest, you have no need 
of a priest yet; and therewith he laughed upon him, as 
though he would say, you shall have soon. But so little wist 
the other what he meant, and so little mistrusted, that he 
was never merrier, nor never so full of good hope in his 
life. Which self thing is often seen a sign of change. 

But I shall rather let any thing pass me, than the vain 
surety of man's mind so near his death. Upon the very 
Tower-wharf, so near the place where his head was off so 
soon after, there met he with one Hastings, a pursuivant, 
of his own name. And on their meeting in that place, he 
was put in remembrance of another time, in which it had 
happened them before to meet in like manner together in 
the same place. At which other time the lord-chamberlain 
had been accused unto King Edward, by the Lord Rivers, 
the queen's brother, in suchwise, that he was for the while 
(but it lasted not long) far fallen into the king's indignation, 
and stood in great fear of himself. And forasmuch as he 


now met this pursuivant in the same place, that jeopardy so 
well passed, it gave him great pleasure to talk with him 
thereof, with whom he had before talked thereof in the 
same place while he was therein. And therefore he said, 
ah Hastings, art thou remembered when I met thee here once 
with an heavy heart ? Yea my lord, quoth he, that remember 
I well; and, thanked be God! they gat no good, nor you 
none harm thereby. Thou wouldest say so, quoth he, if thou 
knewest as much as I know, which few know else as yet and 
more shall shortly. That meant he by the lords of the 
queen's kindred, who were taken before and should that 
day be beheaded at Pom fret ; which he well wist, but no- 
tliing aware that the axe hung over his own head. In faith, 
man, quoth he, I was never so sorry, nor never stood in so 
great dread in my life, as I did when thou and I met here. 
And lo how the world is turned ; now stand mine enemies in 
the danger (as thou mayest hap to hear more hereafter) and 
I never in my life so merry, nor never in so great surety. 

O ! good God, the blindness of our mortal nature ! When 
he most feared, he was in good surety ; when he reckoned 
himself surest, he lost his life, and that within two hours 
after. Thus ended this honourable man, a good knight and 
a gentle, of great authority with his prince, of living some- 
what dissolute, plain and open to his enemy, and secret to 
his friend ; easy to beguile, as he who of good heart and 
courage forestudied no perils. A loving man and passing 
well beloved ; very faithful and trusty enough ; trusting too 


Now flew the fame of this lord's death swiftly through 
the city, and so forth farther about, like a wind in every 
man's ear. But the protector, immediately after dinner, 
intending to set some colour upon the matter, sent in all 
haste for many substantial men out of the city into the 
Tower. And at then coming, himself with the duke of 
Buckingham, stood harnessed in old ill-faring briganders, 
such as no man should ween that they would vouchsafe to 
have put upon their backs, except that some sudden ne- 
cessity had constrained them. And then the protector shew- 
ed them, that the lord-chamberlain, and others of his con- 
spiracy, had contrived to have suddenly destroyed him and 
the duke, there, that same day, in the council. And what 
they intended farther was as yet not well known. Of which 
their treason he never had knowledge before ten of the 
clock the same forenoon ; which sudden fear, drave them 
to put-on, for their defence, such harness as came next to 
hand ; and so had God holpen them, that the mischief turn- 
ed upon them who would have done it. And this he re- 
quired them to report. 

Every man answered him fair, as though no man mis- 
trusted the matter, winch of truth no man believed. Yet 
for the farther appeasing of the people's mind, he sent im- 
mediately after dinner in all haste, one herald of arms, with 
a proclamation, to be made through the city in the king's 
name, containing, that the Lord Hastings, with divers others 
of his traitorous purpose, had before conspired, that same 
day to have slain the lord protector and the duke of Buck- 


ingham, sitting in the council ; and after, to have taken 
upon them to rule the king and the realm at their pleasure 
and thereby to pill and spoil whom they list uncontrouled. 

And much matter was there in the proclamation devised, 
to the slander of the lord-chamberlain. As, that lie was 
an evil counsellor to the king's father, enticing him to mam 
things highly redounding to the minishing of his honour, 
and to the universal hurt of his realm, by his evil company , 
sinister procuring and ungracious example; as well in many 
other things, as in the vicious living and inordinate abuse 
of his body, both with many others, and also specially with 
Shore's wife, who was one also of his most secret counsel 
of this heinous treason, with whom he lay nightly, and 
namely the night last past, next before his death. So that 
it was the less marvel, if ungracious living brought him to 
an unhappy ending. Which he was now put unto, by the 
most dread commandment of the king's highness and of his 
honourable and faithful council ; both for his demerits, be- 
ing so openly taken in his falsely-conceived treason ; and 
also, lest the delaying of his execution might have en- 
couraged other mischievous persons, partners of his con- 
spiracy, to gather and assemble themselves together in 
making some great commotion for his deliverance. Whose 
hope now being by his well deserved death politicly re- 
pressed, all the realm should, by God's grace rest in good 
quiet and peace. 

Now was this proclamation made within two hours after 
Vol. II. E e 

210 SIR T. MORE'S 

that he was beheaded. And it was so curiously indited, 
and so fair written on parchment, in so well a set hand, and 
therewith of itself so long a process, that every child might 
Avell perceive that it was prepared before. For all the time 
between his death and the proclaiming, could scant have 
sufficed unto the bare writing alone, all had it been but on 
paper and scribbled-forth in haste at adventure. So that 
upon the proclaiming thereof, one Avho was schoolmaster 
of Pauls, of chance standing by and comparing the short- 
ness of the time with the length of the matter, said unto 
them who stood about him, here is a gay goodly cast, foul 
cast away for haste. And a merchant answered him, that 
it was written by prophecy. 

Now then by and by, as it were for anger, not for 
courtesy, the protector sent unto the house of Shore's wife 
(for her husband dwelled not with her) and spoiled her of 
all that ever she had above the value of two or three marks, 
and sent her body to prison. And when he had awhile laid 
unto her, for the manner sake, that she went about to be- 
witch him, and that she was of counsel with the lord-cham- 
berlain to destroy him, in conclusion, when that no colour 
could fasten upon these matters, then he laid heinously to her 
charge, the thing that herself could not deny, that all the 
world wist was true, and that nevertheless every man laugh- 
ed-at to hear it then so suddenly so highly taken, that she 
was nought of her body. 

And for this cause, as a goodly continent prince, clean 


and faultless of himself, sent out of heaven into this vicious 
world for the amendment of men's manners, he caused the 
bishop of London to put her to open penance, going be- 
fore the cross in procession upon a Sunday, with a taper in 
her hand. In which she went in countenance and pace 
demure so womanly, and albeit she were out of all array 
save her kirtle only, yet went she so fair and lovely, name- 
ly while the wondering of the people cast a comely rud in 
her cheeks (of which she before had most miss), that her 
great shame wan her much praise, among those who were 
more amorous of her body than curious of her soul. And 
many good folk also, who hated her living, and glad were 
to see sin corrected, yet pitied they more her penance 
than rejoiced therein, when they considered, that the pro- 
tector procured it, more of a corrupt intent than any vir- 
tuous affection. 

This woman was born in London, worshipfully friended, 
honestly brought-up, and very well married, saving some- 
what too soon ; her husband an honest citizen, young and 
goodly and of good substance. But, forasmuch as they 
were coupled ere she was well ripe, she not very fervently 
loved for whom she never longed. Which was haply the 
thing that the more easily made her incline unto the king's 
appetite, when he required her. Howbeit the respect of 
his royalty, the hope of gay apparel, ease, pleasure, and 
other wanton wealth, were able soon to pierce a soft tender 
heart. But when the king had abused her, anon her hus- 
band, as he was an honest man, and one who could his 

E e 2 

212 SIR T, MORE'S 

good, not presuming to touch a king's concubine, left her 
up to him all together. When the king died, the lord- 
chamberlain took her; who, in the king's days, albeit he 
was sore enamoured upon her, yet he forbare her, either for 
reverence or for a certain friendly faithfulness. 

Proper she was and fair ; nothing in her body that } T ou 
would have changed, but if you would have wished her 
somewhat higher. Thus say they who knew her in her 
youth ; albeit some who now see her (for yet she liveth) 
deem her never to have been well visaged. Whose judg- 
ment seemeth me somewhat like, as though men should guess 
the beauty of one long before departed, by her scalp taken 
out of the charnel house. For now is she old, lean, wither- 
ed, and dried up, nothing left but shrivelled skin and hard 
bone. And yet, being even such, whoso well advise her 
visage, might guess and devise, which parts, how filled, 
would make it a fair face. 

Yet delighted not men so much in her beauty, as in her 
pleasant behaviour. For a proper wit had she, and could 
both read well and write ; merry in company, ready and 
quick of answer, neither mute nor full of babble, some- 
times taunting without displeasure and not without disport. 
The king Avould say that he had three concubines, who, in 
three divers properties, diversly excelled. One the mer- 
riest, another the wiliest, the third the holiest harlot in his 
realm, as one whom no man could get out of the church 
lightly to any place, but it were to his bed. The other two 


were somewhat greater personages, and nevertheless, of 
their humility, content to be nameless, and to forbear the 
praise of those properties. But the merriest, was this Shore's 
wife, in whom the king therefore took special pleasure, for 
many he had, but her he loved. 

Whose favour, to say the truth, (for sin it were to belie 
the devil) she never abused to any man's hurt, but to many 
a man's comfort and relief. Where the king took displea- 
sure, she would mitigate, and appease his mind. Where 
men were out of favour, she would bring them in his grace. 
For many who had highly offended, she obtained pardon. 
Of great forfeitures she gat men remission. And finally, 
in many weighty suits, she stood many men in great stead, 
either for none or very small rewards, and those rather gay 
than rich ; either for that she was content with the deed 
itself well done, or for that she delighted to be sued unto 
and to shew what she was able to do with the king, or for 
that wanton women and wealthy be not alway covetous. 

I doubt not, some shall think this woman too slig;ht a 
thing, to be written of and set among the remembrances 
of great matters. Which they shall specially think, who 
haply shall esteem her only by that they now see her. But 
meseemeth the chance so much the more worthy to be re- 
membered, in how much she is [now in the more beggarly 
condition, unfriended and worn-out of acquaintance, after 
good substance, after as great favour with the prince, after 
as great suit and seeking-to with all those who those days 

214 SiR T. MORES 

liad business to speed, as many other men were in their 
times, who be now famous only by the infamy of their ill- 
deeds. Her doings were not much less, albeit they be much 
less remembered, because they were not so evil. For men 
use, if they have an evil turn, to write it in marble ; and 
whoso doth us a good turn, we write it in dust. Which is 
not worst proved by her ; for at this day she beggeth of 
many at this day living, who at this day had begged if she 
had not been. 

Now was it so devised by the protector and his council, 
that the self day on Avhich the lord-chamberlain was be- 
headed in the lower of London, and about the self-same 
hour, was there, not without his assent, beheaded at Pom- 
fret, the fore-remembered lords and knights, who were taken 
from the king at Northampton and Stony Stratford. Which 
thing was done in the presence and by the order of Sir 
Richard Ratclif, knight, whose service the protector special- 
ly used in the counsel and in the execution of such lawless 
enterprises ; as a man who had been long secret with him, 
having experience of the Avorld and a shrewd wit, short and 
rude in speech, rough and boisterous of behaviour, bold in 
mischief, as far from pity as from all fear of God. This 
knight, bringing them out of the prison to the scaffold, and 
shewing to the people about, that they were traitors, not 
suffering them to speak and declare their innocence, lest 
their words might have inclined men to pity them and to 
hate the protector and his party, caused them hastily, with- 
out judgment, process, or manner of order, to be behead- 


ed ; and without other earthly guilt, but only that they 
were good men, too true to the king, and too nigh to the 

Now when the lord-chamberlam and these other lords 
and knights were thus beheaded and rid out of the way, 
then thought the protector, that while men mused what the 
matter meant, while the lords of the realm were about him 
out of their own strength, while no man wist what to think 
nor whom to trust, ere ever they should have space to dis- 
pute and digest the matter and make parties, it were best 
hastily to pursue his purpose, and put himself in possession 
of the crown ere men could have time to devise any ways 
to resist. But now was all the study, by what mean this 
matter, being of itself so heinous, might be first broken to 
the people in suchwise, that it might be well taken. To 
this counsel they took divers, such as they thought meetly 
to be trusted, likely to be induced to the party, and able 
to stand them in stead either by power or policy. 

Among whom, they made of counsel Edmund Shaw, 
knight, then mayor of London, who, upon trust of his own 
advancement, whereof he was, of a proud heart, highly de- 
sirous, should frame the city to their appetite. Of spiritual 
men, they took such as had wit, and were in authority 
among the people for opinion of their learning, and had no 
scrupulous conscience. Among these had they John Shaw, 
clerk, brother to the mayor, and Friar Penker, provincial 
of the Augustin friars ; both doctors of divinity, both great 


preachers, both of more learning than virtue, of more fame 
than learning ; for they were before greatly esteemed among 
the people, but after that never. 

Of these two, the one had a sermon in praise of the pro- 
tector, before the coronation, the other after ; both so full 
of tedious flattery, that no man's ears could abide them. 
Penker, in his sermon, so lost his voice, that he was fain 
to leave off and come down in the midst. Doctor Shaw, 
by his sermon, lost his honesty, and soon after his life ; for 
very shame of the world, into which he durst never after 
come abroad. But the friar feared for no shame, and so it 
harmed him the less. Howbeit some doubt and many think, 
that Penker was not of counsel of the matter before the 
coronation, but, after the common manner, fell to flattery 
after ; namely, since his sermon was not incontinent up- 
on it, but at S'. Mary hospital, at the Easter after. But 
certain is it that Dr. Shaw was of counsel in the beginning ; 
so far forth, that they determined that he should first break 
the matter in a sermon at Paul's Cross, in which he should, 
by the authority of his preaching, incline the people to the 
protector's ghostly purpose. 

But now was all the labour and study, in the device of 
some convenient pretext, for which the people should be 
content to depose the prince and accept the protector for 
king. In which, divers things they devised ; but the chief 
thing, and the weighty of all that invention, rested in this, 
that they should allege bastardy, either in King Edward 


himself, or in his children, or both ; so that he should seem 
disabled to inherit the crown by the duke of York, and the 
prince by him. To lay bastardy on King Edward, sound- 
ed openly to the rebuke of the protector's own mother, who 
was mother to them both ; for in that point could be none 
other colour, but to pretend that his own mother was an 
adultress, which notwithstanding, to farther this purpose 
he letted not. But nevertheless he would that point should 
be less and more favourably handled ; not even fully plain 
and directly, but that the matter should be touched aslope 
craftily, as though men spared in that point to speak all 
the truth, for fear of his displeasure. But the other point, 
concerning the bastardy that they devised to surmise in 
King Edward's children, that would he should be openly 
declared and enforced to the uttermost. The colour and 
pretext Avhereof cannot be well perceived, but if we first 
repeat you some things long before done about King Ed- 
ward's marriage. 

After that King Edward IV had deposed King Henry 
VI, and was in peaceable possession of the realm, deter- 
mining himself to marry, as it was requisite both for him- 
self and for the realm, he sent over in embassy the earl of 
Warwick, with other noblemen in his company, unto Spain, 
to entreat and conclude a marriage between King Edward 
and the king's daughter of Spain. In which thing the earl 
of Warwick found the parties so toward and willing, that 
he speedily, according to his instructions, without any dif- 
ficulty, brought the matter to very good conclusion. 

Vol. II. F f 

218 SIR T. MORE'S 

Now happened it, that in the mean season, there came 
to make a suit by petition to the king, Dame Elizabeth 
Gray, who was afterward his queen, at that time a widow, 
born of noble blood, specially by her mother, who was 
duchess of Bedford ere she married the Lord Wodefeld her 
father. Howbeit this Dame Elizabeth herself beino- in ser- 
vice with Queen Margaret, wife unto King Henry VI, was 

married unto one Gray, a squire, whom King Henry 

made knight upon the field that he had on at 

against King Edward ; and little while enjoyed he that 
knighthood, for he was at that same field slain. After which 
done, and the earl of Warwick being on his embassy about 
the afore-remembered marriage, this poor lady made humble 
suit unto the king, that she might be restored unto such 
small lands as her late husband had given her in jointure. 

Whom when the king beheld and heard her speak, as 
she was both fair, of a good favour, moderate of stature, 
well made, and very Avise, he not only pitied her but also 
waxed enamoured of her ; and taking her afterward secret- 
ly aside, began to enter in talking more familiarly. Whose 
appetite when she perceived, she virtuously denied him ; 
but that did she so wisely, and with so good manner and 
words so well set, that she rather kindled his desire than 
quenched it. And finally, after many a meeting, much 
wooing and many great promises, she well espied the king's 
affection toward her so greatly increased, that she durst 
somewhat the more boldly say her mind, as to him whose 
heart she perceived more firmly set than to fall-off for a 


word. And in conclusion she shewed him plainly, that as 
she wist herself too simple to be his wife, so thought she 
herself too good to be his concubine. 

The king much marvelling of her constancy, as he who 
had not been wont elsewhere to be so stirly said nay, so 
much esteemed her continence and chastity, that he set her 
virtue in the stead of possession and riches ; and thus tak- 
ing counsel of his desire, determined in all possible haste 
to marry her. And after he was thus appointed, and had 
between them twain insured her, then asked he counsel of 
his other friends, and that in such manner, as they might 
easy perceive it booted not greatly to say nay. 

Notwithstanding, the duchess of York, his mother, was 
so sore moved therewith, that she dissuaded the marriage 
as much as she possibly might ; alleging, that it was his ho- 
nour, profit, and surety also, to marry in a noble progeny 
out of his realm ; whereupon depended great strength to 
his estate, by the affinity and great possibility of increase 
of his possessions. And that he could not well otherwise 
do, standing that the earl of Warwick had so far moved 
already, who was not likely to take it well, if all his voy- 
age was in suchwise frustrate and his appointments delud- 
ed. And she said also, that it was not princely to marry 
his own subject, no great occasion leading thereunto, no ' 
possessions or other commodities depending thereupon; 
but only as it were a rich man who would marry his maid, 
only for a little wanton dotage upon her person ; in which 


220 SIR T. MOKE'S 

marriage, many more commend the maiden's fortune than 
the master's wisdom. And yet there she said was more 
honesty than honour in this marriage ; forasmuch as there 
is between no merchant and his own maid, so great differ- 
ence as between the king and this widow. In whose per- 
son albeit there was nothing to be misliked, yet was there 
she said nothing so excellent but that it might be found in 
divers others, who were ?nore meetly (quoth she) for your 
estate, and maids also ; whereas the only widowhood of Eliza- 
beth Gray, though she were in all other things convenient for 
you, should yet suffice as meseemeth to refrain you from her 
marriage. Since it is an unfitting thing, and a very blemish 
and high disparagement to the sacred majesty of a prince, 
who ought as nigh to approach priesthood in cleanness as he 
doth in dignity, to be befouled with bigamy in his first mar- 

The king, when his mother had said, made her answer 

part in earnest, part in play merely, as he who wist himself 

out of her rule ; and albeit he would gladly that she should 

take it well, yet was at a point in his own mind took she it 

well or otherwise. Howbeit somewhat to satisfy her, he 

said, that albeit marriage, being a spiritual thing, ought 

rather to be made for the respect of God where his grace 

inclineth the parties to love together (as he trusted it was 

in his) than for the regard of any temporal advantage, yet 

nevertheless him seemed that this marriage, even worldly 

considered, was not unprofitable. For he reckoned the amity 

of no earthly nation so necessary for him, as the friendship 


of his own ; which he thought likely to bear him so much 
the more hearty favour, in that he disdained not to marry 
with one of his own land. And yet if outward alliance 
were thought so requisite, he would find the means to en- 
ter thereinto much better by others of his kin, where all the 
parties could be contented, than to many himself whom he 
should haply never love, and, for the possibility of more 
possessions, lose the fruit and pleasure of this that he had 
already. For small pleasure taketh a man of all that ever 
he hath beside, if he be wived against his appetite. 

4 And I doubt not,' quoth he, ' but there be, as you 
say, others who be in every point comparable with her ; 
and therefore I let not them who like them to wed them. 
No more is it reason that it mislike any man that I marry 
where it liketh me. And I am sure that my cousin of War- 
wick neither loveth me so little to grudge at that I love, 
nor is so unreasonable to look that I should in choice of a 
wife rather be ruled by his eye than by mine OAVn ; as though 
I were a ward who were bound to marry by the appoint- 
ment of a guardian. I would not be a king with that con- 
dition, to forbear mine own liberty in choice of my own 
marriage. As for possibility of more inheritance by new 
affinity in strange lands, it is often the occasion of more 
trouble than profit ; and we have already title by that means 
to so much, as sufficeth to get and keep well in one man's 
days. That she is a widow and hath already children — by 
God's blessed lady I am a batchelor and have some too ! 
And so each of us hath a proof that neither of us is like to 

222 SIR T. MORE'S 

be barren. And therefore madam I pray yon be content. 
I trust in God she shall bring-forth a young prince who shall 
please you. And as for the bigamy — let the bishop hardly 
lay it in my way when I come to take orders ; for I under- 
stand it is forbidden a priest, but I never wist it yet that it 
was forbidden a prince.' 

The duchess with these words nothing appeased, and see- 
ing the king so set thereon that she could not pull him back, 
so highly she disdained it, that, under pretext of her duty to 
Godward, she devised to disturb this marriage ; and rather 
to help that he should marry one Dame Elizabeth Lucy, 
whom the king had also not long before gotten with child. 
Wherefore the king's mother objected openly against his 
marriage, as it were in discharge of her conscience, that the 
king was sure to Dame Elizabeth Lucy, and her husband 
before God. By reason of which words, such obstacle was 
made in the matter, that either the bishops durst not, or 
the king would not, proceed to the solemnization of this 
wedding, till these same were clearly purged and the truth 
well and openly testified. 

Whereupon Dame Elizabeth Lucy was sent for ; and al- 
beit that she was by the king's mother and many others put 
in good comfort, to affirm that she was ensured unto the 
king, yet when she was solemnly sAvorn to say the truth, 
she confessed that they were never ensured. Ilowbeit she 
said his grace spake so loving words unto her, that she ve- 
rily hoped he would have married her ; and that if it had 


not been for such kind words, she would never have shew- 
ed such kindness to him to let him so kindly get her with 
child. This examination solemnly taken, when it was clear- 
ly perceived that there was none impediment, the king with 
great feast and honourable solemnity married Dame Eliza- 
beth Gray, and her crowned queen who Avas his enemy's 
wife, and many times had prayed full heartily for his loss ; 
in which God loved her better than to grant her her boon. 

But when the earl of Warwick understood of this mar- 
riage, he took it so highly that his embassy was deluded, 
that for very anger and disdain, he, at his return, assembled 
a great puissance against the king, and came so fast upon 
him ere he could be able to resist, that he was fain to void 
the realm and fly into Holland for succour : where he re- 
mained for the space of two years, leaving his new wife in 
Westminster in sanctuary, where she was delivered of Ed- 
ward the prince, of whom we before have spoken. In 
Avhich meantime, the earl of Warwick took out of prison 
and set-up again King Henry VI, who was before by King- 
Edward deposed, and that muchwhat by the power of the 
earl of Warwick : who was a wise man and a courageous 
warrior, and of such strength what for his lands, his alli- 
ance, and favour with all the people, that he made kings 
and put down kings almost at his pleasure ; and not impos- 
sible to have attained it himself, if he had not reckoned it 
a greater thing to make a king than to be a king. 

But nothing lasteth alway. For in conclusion, King Ed- 

224 SIR T. MOKE'S 

ward returned, and with much less number than he had, 
at Barnet, on the Easterday field, slew the earl of "War- 
wick, with many other great estates of that party ; and so 
stably attained the crown again, that he peaceably enjoy- 
ed it unto his dying day ; and in such plight left it, that it 
could not be lost but by the discord of his very friends, or 
falsehood of his feigned friends. 

I have rehearsed this business about this marriage some- 
what the more at length, because it might thereby the bet- 
ter appear, upon how slippery a ground the protector build- 
ed his colour, by which he pretended King Edward's child- 
ren to be bastards. But that invention, simple as it was, 
it liked them to whom it sufficed to have somewhat to say, 
while they were sure to be compelled to no larger proof than 
themselves list to make. 

Now then, as I began to shew you, it was by the pro- 
tector and his council concluded, that this Dr. Shaw should, 
in a sermon at Paul's Cross, signify to the people, that 
neither King Edward himself, nor the duke of Clarence, 
were lawfully begotten ; nor were not the very children of 
the duke of York, but gotten unlawfully by other persons, 
by the adultery of the duchess their mother. And that also 
Dame Elizabeth Lucy was verily the wife of King Edward, 
and so the prince and all his children bastards, who were 
gotten upon the queen. 

According to this device, Dr. Shaw, the Sunday after, at 


Paul's cross, in a great audience (as alway assembled great 
numbers to his preaching) took for his theme Spuria vitula- 
tnina non agent radices altas ; that is to say, bastard slip* 
shall never take deep root. Thereupon when he had shewn 
the great grace that God giveth and secretly infoundeth in 
right generation after the laws of matrimony, then declar- 
ed he that commonly those children lacked that grace, and 
for the punishment of their parents were for the more part 
unhappy, which were gotten in haste and specially in adul- 
tery. Of which, though some, by the ignorance of the 
world, and the truth hid from knowledge, inherited for the 
season other men's lands ; yet God alway so provideth, that 
it continueth not in their blood long, but the truth coming 
to light, the rightful inheritors be restored, and the bastard 
Slip pulled-up ere it can be rooted deep. 

And when he had laid for the proof and confirmation of 
this sentence certain examples taken out of the Old Testa- 
ment and other ancient histories, then began he to descend 
into the praise of the Lord Richard late duke of York, call- 
ing him father to the lord protector, and declared the title 
of his heirs unto the crown, to whom it was, after the death 
of King Henry VI, entailed by authority of parliament. 
Then shewed he that his very right heir of his body, law- 
fully begotten, was only the lord protector ; for he declared 
then, that King Edward was never lawfully married unto 
the queen, but was before God husband unto Dame Eliza- 
beth Lucy, and so his children bastards. And beside that, 
neither King Edward himself nor the duke of Clarence, 

Vol. II. G g 

226 SIR T. MORE'S 

among those who' were secret in the household, were reck- 
oned very surely for the children of the noble duke, as those 
who by their favours more resembled other known men 
than him ; from whose virtuous conditions, he said also that 
King Edward was far off. But the lord-protector, he said, 
that very noble prince, that special pattern of knightly 
prowess, as well in all princely behaviour as in the linea- 
ments and favour of his visage, represented the very face 
of the noble duke his father. This is, quoth he, the father's 
own figure, this is his own countenance, the very print of his 
visage, the sure undoubted image, the plain express likeness, 
of that noble duke.. 

Now was it before devised, that in the speaking of these 
words, the protector should have come-in among the people 
to the sermon ward. To the end that, those words meet- 
ing with his presence, might have been taken among the 
hearers* as though the Holy Ghost had put them in the 
preacher's mouth ; and should have moved the people even 
there, to cry King Richard ! King Richard ! that it might 
have been after said, that he was specially chosen by God 
and in manner by miracle. But this device quailed, either 
by the protector's negligence, or the preacher's over-much 
diligence. For while the protector found by the way tarry- 
ing, lest he should prevent those words ; and the doctor, 
fearing that he should come ere his sermon could come to 
those Avoids, hasted his matter thereto ; he was come to 
them and past them, and entered into other matters ere the 
protector came. 


"Whom when he beheld coming, he suddenly left the 
-matter with which he was in hand, and without any deduc- 
tion thereunto, out of all order and out of all frame, be- 
gan to repeat those words again, — this is that very noble 
prince, that special pattern of knightly prowess ; who, as well 
in all princely behaviour, as in the lineaments and favour of 
his visage, representeth the very face of the noble duke of 
York, his father. This is that fathers own figure, this his 
own countenance, the very print of his visage, the sure un- 
doubted image, the plain express likeness of the noble duke, 
whose remembrance can never die while he liveth. 

While these words were in speaking, the protector, ac- 
companied with the duke of Buckingham, went through 
the people into the place where the doctors commonly 
stand in the upper story ; Avhere he stood to hearken the 
sermon. But the people were so far from crying King 
Richard! that they stood as they had been turned into 
stones for wonder of this shameful sermon. After which 
once ended, the preacher gat him home and never after 
durst look out for shame, but kept him out of sight like an 
owl. And when he once asked one who had been his old 
friend, what the people talked of him ; all were it that his 
own conscience well shewed him that they talked no good, 
yet when the other answered him, that there was in every 
man's mouth spoken of him much shame, it so struck him 
to the heart, that within few days after he withered and 
consumed away. 


- J 23 SIR T. MOKE'S 

Then, on the Tuesday following this sermon, there came 
unto the Guildhall in London, the duke of Buckingham, 
accompanied with divers lords and knights, more than hap- 
ly knew the message that they brought. And there, in the 
east end of the hall, where the mayor keepeth the hust- 
ings, the mayor and all the aldermen being assembled about 
him, all the commons of the city gathered before them, 
after silence commanded upon great pain in the protector's 
name, the duke stood up ; and, as he was neither unlearn- 
ed, and of nature marvellously well spoken, he said unto 
the people with a clear and a loud voice in this manner of 

' Friends ! For the zeal and hearty favour that we bear 
you, we be come to break unto you of a matter right great 
and weighty ; and no less weighty, than pleasing to God 
and profitable to all the realm ; nor to no part of the realm 
more profitable, than to you the citizens of this noble city. 
For why ? That thing that we wot well ye have long time 
lacked and sore longed for, that ye would have given great 
good for, that ye would have gOne far to fetch, that thing 
we be come hither to bring you, without your labour, pain, 
cost, adventure, or jeopardy. What thing is that? Certes- 
the surety of your own bodies, the quiet of your wives and 
your daughters, the safeguard of your goods. Of all which 
things, in times past ye stood evermore in doubt. For who 
was there of you all, who would reckon himself lord of his 
own good, among so many grenades and traps as were set 
therefore ; among so much pilling and polling ; among so 

RICHARD II r. 22!> 

many taxes and tallages, of which there was never end, and 
oftentime no need ; or if any were, it rather grew of riot 
and unreasonable waste, than any necessary or honourable 

' So that there was daily pilled from good men and honest, 
great substance of goods to be lavished out among unthrifts. 
So far forth, that fifteenths sufficed not, nor any usual 
names of known taxes ; but, under an easy name of be- 
nevolence and goodwill, the commissioners so much of 
every man took, as no man would with his goodwill have 
given. As though the name of benevolence had signified, 
that every man should pay not what himself of his good 
will list to grant, but what the king of his good will list to 
take. Who never asked little ; but every thing was hanced 
above the measure, — amercements turned into fines, fines 
into ransoms, small trespass to misprision, misprision into 
treason. Whereof I think no man looketh that we should 
Temember you of examples by name. As though Burdet 
were forgotten, who was, for a word spoken in haste, cruel- 
ly beheaded, by the misconstruing of the laws of this realm 
for the prince's pleasure ; with no less honour to Markham 
then chief justice (who left his office rather than he would 
assent to that judgment), than to the dishonesty of those 
who, either for fear or flattery, gave that judgment. What 
Coke, your own worshipful neighbour, alderman and mayor 
of this noble city, — who is of you either so negligent that 
he knoweth not, or so forgetful that he remembereth not, 
or so hard hearted that he pitieth not, that worshipful man's 

250 SIR T. MORE'S 

loss ? What speak we of loss ! — his utter spoil and unde- 
served destruction, only for that it happened those to favour 
him whom the prince favoured not. 

* "We need not I suppose to rehearse of these any more 
by name. Since there be I doubt not many here present, 
who, either in themselves or their nigh friends, have known 
as well their goods as their persons greatly endangered, 
either by feigned quarrels, or small matters aggreived with 
heinous names. And also there was no crime so great, of 
which there could lack a pretext. For since the king, pre- 
venting the time of his inheritance, attained the crown by 
battle, it sufficed in a rich man for a pretext of treason, to 
have been of kindred or alliance, near familiarity or lieger 
acquaintance, with any of those who were at any time the 
king's enemies ; which was, at one time and other, more 
than half the realm. 

' Thus were neither your goods in surety, and yet they 
brought your bodies in jeopardy, beside the common ad- 
venture of open Avar. Which albeit that it is ever the will 
and occasion of much mischief, yet is it never so mischiev- 
ous, as where any people fall at distance among them- 
selves ; nor in none earthly nation so deadly and so pesti- 
lent, as when it happeneth among us ; and among us never 
so long-continued dissention, nor so many battles in the 
season, nor so cruel and so deadly fought, as was in the 
king's days who dead is, God forgive it his soul ! In whose 
time and by whose occasion, what about the getting of the 

RICHARD in. ^3 1 

garland, keeping it, losing and winning again, it hath cost 
more English blood than hath twice the winning of France. 
In which inward war among ourselves, hath been so great 
effusion of the ancient noble blood of this realm, that 
scarcely the half remaineth, to the great enfeebling of this 
noble land ; beside many a good town ransacked and spoil- 
ed, by them who have been going to the field or coming 
from thence. And peace, long after, not much surer than 

' So that no time was there, in which rich men for their 
moncy and great men for their lands, or some others for 
some fear or some displeasure, were out of peril. For 
whom trusted he who mistrusted his own brother? whom 
spared he who killed his own brother ? or who could per- 
fectly love him, if his own brother could not ? What man- 
ner of folk he most favoured, we shall for his honour spare 
to speak of. Howbeit this wot ye well all, that whoso 
was best, bare alway least rule. And more suit was in his 
days unto Shore's wife, a vile and an abominable strumpet, 
than to all the lords in England, except unto those who 
made her their proctor. Which simple woman was well 
named and honest, till the king, for his wanton lust and 
sinful affection, bereft her from her husband, a right honest 
substantial young man among you. And in that point 
(which in good faith I am sorry to speak of, saving that it 
is in vain to keep in counsel that thing which all men know), 
the king's greedy appetite was insatiable, and everywhere 
over all the realm intolerable. For no woman was there 

282 SIR T. MORE'S 

anywhere, young or old, rich or poor, whom he set his eye 
upon, in whom he any thing liked, either person or favour, 
speech, pace or -countenance, but, without any fear of God 
or respect of his honour, murmur or grudge of the world, 
he would importunely pursue his appetite and have her ; to 
the great destruction of many a good woman, and great 
dolour to her husband and her other friends ; who, being 
honest people of themselves, so much regard the cleanness 
of their house, the chastity of their wives and their children, 
that them were lever to lose all that they have beside, than 
to have such a villany done them. 

' And all were it that with this and other importable 
dealing the realm was in every part annoyed, yet specially 
ye here, the citizens of this noble city. As well for that 
among you is most plenty of all such things as minister 
matter to such injuries, as for that ye were nearest at hand; 
since that near here about was commonly his most abiding. 
And yet be ye the people whom he had as singular cause 
well and kindly to entreat, as any part of his realm. Not 
only for that the prince by this noble city, as his special 
chamber and the special Avell-renowned city of Ins realm, 
much honourable fame receiveth among all other nations ; 
but also for that ye, not without your great cost and sundry 
perils and jeopardies, in all his wars bare ever your special 
favour to his part. Which your kind minds borne to the 
house of York since he hath nothing worthily acquitted, 
there is of that house who now by God's grace better shall. 


Which thing to shew ye, is the whole sum and effect of 
this our present errand. 

' It shall not I wot well need, that I rehearse ye again 
that ye have already heard, of him who can better tell it, 
and of whom I am sure ye will better believe it. And rea- 
son is that it so be. I am not so proud to look therefore, 
that ye should reckon my words of as great authority as 
the preacher's of the word of God ; namely, a man so cun- 
ning and so wise, that no man better wotteth what he should 
say ; and thereto so good and virtuous, that he would not 
say the thing which he wist he should not say, in the pul- 
pit namely, into which none honest man cometh to lie. 
Which honourable preacher, ye well remember, substantial- 
ly declared unto you at Paul's Cross on Sunday last past, 
the right and title that the most excellent prince, Richard 
duke of Gloucester, now protector of this realm, hath un- 
to the crown and kingdom of the same. For, as that wor- 
shipful man groundly made open unto ye, the children of 
King Edward IV were never lawfully begotten. Foras- 
much as the king (living his very wife, Dame Elizabeth 
Lucy) was never lawfully married unto the queen their 
mother; whose blood, saving that he set his voluptuous 
pleasure before his honour, was full unmetely to be match- 
ed with his ; and the mingling of whose bloods together, 
hath been the effusion of great part of the noble blood of 
this realm. Whereby it may well seem that marriage not 
well made, of which there is so much mischief grown. 

Vol. II. H h 

234 SIR T. MORE'S 

' For lack of which lawful accoupling, and also of other 

things which the said worshipful doctor rather signified 

than fully explained, and which things shall not be spoken 
of me, as the thing wherein every man forbeareth to say 
that he knoweth, in avoiding displeasure of my noble lord 
protector, bearing as nature requireth a filial reverence to 
the duchess his mother for those causes I say be- 
fore remembered ; that is, to-wit, for lack of other issue 
lawfully coining of the late noble prince, Richard duke of 
York (to whose royal blood the crown of England and of 
France is by the high authority of parliament entailed) the 
right and title of the same is, by the just course of inherit- 
ance according to the common law of this land, devolute 
and come unto the most excellent prince the lord protector, 
as to the very lawfully-begotten son of the fore-remember- 
ed noble duke of York. Which thing well considered, and 
the great knightly prowess pondered, with manifold virtues 
which in his noble person singularly abound, the nobles, 
and commons also, of this realm, and specially of the north 
parts, not willing any bastard blood to have the rule of 
the land, nor the abuses before in the 1 same used any longer 
to continue, have condescended and fully determined, to 
make humble petition unto the most puissant prince the 
lord protector, that it may like his grace, at our humble re- 
quest, to take upon him the guiding and governance of this 
realm, to the wealth and increase of the same, according to 
his very right and just title. 

' Which thing, I wot it well, he will be loath to take 


upon him ; as he whose wisdom well perceiveth, the labour 
and study both of mind and of body that shall come there- 
with, to whomsoever so well occupy that room, as I dare 
say he will if he take it. Which room I warn ye well is no 
child's office ; and that the great wise man well perceived 
when he said veh regno citjas rex puer est, woe is that realm 
that hath a child to their king. Wherefore so much the 
more cause have we to thank God, that this noble person- 
age who is so righteously entitled thereunto, is of so sad 
age, and thereto of so great wisdom, joined with so great 
experience. Who, albeit, he will be loath, as I have said, 
to take it upon him, yet shall he to our petition in that 
behalf the more graciously incline, if ye, the worshipful 
citizens of this the chief city of this realm, join with us, 
the nobles, in our said request. Which for your own wea^ 
we doubt not but ye will ; and nevertheless I heartily pray 
ye so to do. Whereby ye shall do great profit to all this 
realm beside, in choosing them so good a king, and unto 
yourselves special commodity. To whom his majesty shall 
ever after bear so much the more tender favour, in how 
much he shall perceive ye the more prone and benevolent- 
ly minded toward his election. Wherein, dear friends, what 
mind ye have, we require ye plainly to shew us/ 

When the duke had said, and looked that the people, 
whom he hoped that the mayor had framed before, should, 
after this proposition made, have cried King Richard ! King 
Richard ! all was hushed and mute, and not one word an- 
swered thereunto. Wherewith the duke was marvellously 

Hh 2 

236 SIR T. MORE'S 

abashed ; and taking the mayor nearer to him, with others 
who were about him privy to that matter, said unto them 
softly, what meaneth this, that this people be so still ? Sir, 
(quoth the mayor) percase they perceive you not well. That 
shall we mend (quoth he) if that will help. And by and by, 
somewhat louder be rehearsed them the same matter again, 
in other order and other words ; so well and ornately, and 
nevertheless so evidently and plain, with voice, gesture, and 
countenance so comely and so convenient, that every man 
much marvelled who heard him, and thought that they 
never had in their lives heard so evil a tale so well told. 
But were it for Avonder or fear, or that each looked that 
other should speak first, not one word was there answered 
of all the people who stood before, but all was as still as 
the midnight ; not so much as rowning among them, by 
which they might seem to commune what was best to do. 

When the mayor saw this, he, with other partners of 
that counsel, drew about the duke and said, that the people 
had not been accustomed there to be spoken unto but by 
the recorder, who is the mouth of the city, and haply to 
him they will answer. With that the recorder, called Fitz- 
william, a sad man and an honest, who was so new come 
into that office that he never had spoken to the people be- 
fore, and loath was with that matter to begin, notwithstand- 
ing, thereunto commanded by the mayor, made rehearsal 
to the commons of that the duke had twice rehearsed them 
himself; but the recorder so tempered his tale, that he 
shewed every thing as the duke's words, and no part his 


own. But all this nothing no change made in the people, 
who, alway after one, stood as they had been men amazed. 
Whereupon the duke rowned unto the mayor and said, this 
is a marvellous obstinate silence ; and therewith he turned 
unto the people again with these words. 

' Dear friends, we come to move ye to that thing, which 
perad venture we not so greatly needed, but that the lords 
of this realm and the commons of other parts might have 
sufficed ; saving that we such love bear ye, and so much 
set by ye, that we would not gladly do without ye that 
thing, in which to be partners is your weal and honour,, 
which as it seemeth either ye see not or weigh not. 
Wherefore we require ye give us answer one or other, 
whether ye be minded, as all the nobles of the realm be, 
to have this noble prince, now protector, to be your king 
or not ?' 

At these words the people began to whisper among them- 
selves secretly, that the voice was neither loud nor distinct, 
but as it were the sound of a swarm of bees. Till at the 
last, in the nether end of the hall, a bushment of the duke's 
servants and Nashefeld's, and others belonging to the pro- 
tector, with some apprentices and lads who thrust into the 
hall among the press, began suddenly at men's backs to 
cry-out as loud as their throats would give, King Richard ! 
King Richard ! and threw-up their caps in token of joy ; 
and they who stood before, cast-back their heads, marvel- 
ling thereof, but nothing they said. 

238 SIR T. MORE T S 

And when the duke and the mayor saw this manner, 
they wisely turned it to their purpose ; and said, it was a 
goodly cry and a joyful to hear, every man with one voice, 
no man saying nay. ' Wherefore, friends/ quoth the duke, 
* since that we perceive it is all your whole minds to have 
this noble man for your king (whereof we shall make his 
grace so effectual report, that we doubt not but it shall re- 
dound unto your great weal and commodity) we require 
ye that ye to-morrow go with us, and we with ye, unto his 
noble grace, to make our humble request unto him in man- 
ner before remembered. And therewith the lords came 
down, and the company dissolved and departed ; the more 
part all sad ; some with glad semblance who were not very 
merry ; and some of those who came thither with the duke 
not able to dissemble their sorrow, were fain at his back to 
turn their face to the wall, while the dolour of their hearts 
burst-out at their eyes. 

Then on the morrow after, the mayor with all the alder- 
men and chief commoners of the city, in their best manner 
apparelled, assembling themselves together, resorted unto 
Baynard's Castle, where the protector lay. To which place 
repaired also, according to their appointment, the duke of 
Buckingham, with divers noblemen with him, beside many 
knights and other gentlemen. And thereupon the duke 
sent word unto the lord-protector, of the being there of a 
great and honourable company, to move a great matter un- 
to his grace. N 


Whereupon the protector made difficulty to come out 
unto them, but if he first knew some part of their errand ; 
as though he doubted and partly distrusted the coming of 
such a number unto him so suddenly, without any warning or 
knowledge whether they came for good or harm. Then the 
duke when he had shewn this unto the mayor and others, 
that they might thereby see how little the protector looked 
for this matter, they sent unto him by the messenger such 
loving message again, and therewith so humbly besought 
him to vouchsafe that they might resort to his presence to 
propose their intent, of which they would unto none other 
person any part disclose, that at the last he came forth of 
his chamber, and yet not down unto them ; but stood above 
in a gallery over them, where they might see him and speak 
to him, as though he Avould not yet come too near them 
till he wist what they meant. 

And thereupon the duke of Buckingham first made 
humble petition unto him on the behalf of them all, that 
his grace would pardon them and licence them to propose 
unto his grace the intent of their coming, without his dis- 
pleasure ; without which pardon obtained, they durst not 
be bold to move him of that matter. In which albeit they 
meant as much honour to his grace as wealth to all the 
realm beside, yet were they not sure how his grace would 
take it, whom they would in nowise offend. 

Then the protector, as if he was very gentle of himself, 
and also longed sore to wit what they meant, gave him 

£10 SIR T. MORE'S 

leave to propose what him liked, verily trusting, for the 
good mind that he bare them all, none of them any thing- 
would intend unto himward wherewith he ought to be 

When the duke had this leave and pardon to speak, then 
waxed he bold to shew him their intent and purpose, with 
all the causes moving them thereunto as ye before have 
heard. And finally to beseech his grace, that it would like 
him of his accustomed goodness and zeal unto the realm, 
now with his eye of pity to behold the long-continued dis- 
tress and decay of the same. And to set his gracious hands 
to the redress and amendment thereof, by taking upon him 
the crown and governance of this realm, according to his 
right and title lawfully descended unto him ; and to the 
laud of God, profit of the land, and unto his grace's so much 
the more honour and less pain, in that never prince reigned 
upon any people who were so glad to live under his obeis- 
ance, as the people of this realm under his. 

"When the protector had heard the proposition, he look- 
ed very strangely thereat ; and answered, that all were it 
that he partly knew the things by them alleged to be true, 
yet such entire love he bare unto King Edward and his 
children, that he so much more regarded his honour in 
other realms about than the crown of any one (of which he 
was never desirous) that he could not find in his heart in 
this point to incline to their desire. For in all other na- 
tions where the truth were not well known, it should per- 


adventure be thought that it were his own ambitious mind « 
and device, to depose the prince and take himself the 
crown ; with which infamy he would not have his honour 
stained for any crown. In which he had ever perceived 
much more labour and pain than pleasure, to him whoso 
would so use it as, he avIio would not, were not worthy to 
have it. Notwithstanding, he not only pardoned them the 
motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the 
love and hearty favour they bare him. Prating them, for 
his sake, to give and bear the same to the prince ; under 
whom he was and would be content to live, and with his 
labour and counsel, as far as should like the king to use 
him, he would do his uttermost endeavour to set the realm 
in good state. Which was already in this little while of his 
protectorship (the praise given to God) well begun. In 
that the malice of such as were before occasion of the con- 
trary, and of new intended to be, were now, partly by good 
policy, partly more by God's special providence than man's 
provision, repressed. 

Upon this answer given, the duke, by the protector's 
licence, a little rowned, as well with other noblemen about 
him, as with the mayor and recorder of Loadon. And af- 
ter that, upon like pardon desired and obtained, he shew- 
ed aloud unto the protector for a final conclusion, that the 
realm was appointed, King Edward's line should not any 
longer reign upon them ; both for that they had so far gone 
that it was now no surety to retreat, as for that they thought 
it for the weal universal to take that way, although they 

Vol. II. I i 

242 SIR T. MORE'S 

had not yet begun it. Wherefore, if it would like his grace 
to take the crown upon him, they would humbly beseech 
him thereunto. If he would give them a resolute answer 
to the contrary (which they would be loath to hear) then 
must they needs seek, and should not fail to find, some 
other nobleman who would. 

These words much moved the protector; who else, as 
every man may wit, would never of likelihood have inclined 
thereunto. But when he saw there was none other way, but 
that either he must take it, or else he and his both go from 
it, he said unto the lords and commons ; 

* Since we perceive-well that all the realm is so set ; 
whereof we be very sorry that they will not suffer in any- 
wise King Edward's line to govern them, whom no man 
earthly can govern against their wills ; and we well also per- 
ceive, that no man is there to whom the crown can by so 
just title appertain as to ourself, as very right heir, lawfully 
begotten, of the body of our most dear father Richard late 
duke of York ; to which title is now joined your election, 
the nobles and commons of this realm, which we of all 
titles possible take for most effectual ; we be content and 
agree favourably to incline to your petition and request. 
And according to the same, here we take upon us the royal 
estate, pre-eminence and kingdom of the two noble realms, 
England and France ; the one, from this day forward by 
us and our heirs to rule, govern, and defend ; the other, by 
God's grace and your good help, to get again and subdue, 


and establish for ever in due obedience unto this realm of 
England ; the advancement whereof, we never ask of God 
longer to live, than we intend to procure/ 

With this there was a great shout, crying King Richard I 
King Richard ! And then the lords went-up to the king 
(for so was he from that time called) and the people de- 
parted, talking diversly of the matter, every man as his 
fantasy gave him. 

But much they talked and marvelled of the manner of 
this dealing ; that the matter was on both parts made so 
strange, as though neither had ever communed with other 
thereof before, when that themselves well wist, there was 
no man so dull who heard them, but he perceived well 
enough that all the matter was made between them. How- 
beit some excused that again, and said, all must be done 
in good order though ; and men mast sometimes for the 
manner's sake not be known what the}' know. For at the 
consecration of a bishop, every man wotteth well by the 
paying for his bulls, that he purposeth to be one; and 
though he pay for nothing else, yet must he be twice asked 
whether he will be bishop or no, and he must twice say nay, 
and at the third time take it as compelled thereunto beside 
his own will. And in a stage play, all the people know 
right well that he who playeth the sovereign is percase a 
sutler. Yet if one should ken so little good, to shew out 
of season what acquaintance he hath with him, and call 
him by his own name while he standeth in his majesty, one 

I i 2 


of his tormentors might hap to break his head, and worthi- 
ly, for marring of the play. And so they said, that these 
matters be kings' games, as it were stage-plays, and for the 
more part played upon scaffolds ; in which poor men be 
but the lookers-on, and they who wise be will meddle no 
farther. For they who sometimes step-up and play with 
them, when they cannot play their parts, thej r disorder the 
play and do themselves no good. 

The next day, the protector, with a great train, went to 
Westminster-hall. And there, when he had placed himself 
in the court of the King's-bench, declared to the audience, 
that he would take upon him the crown in that place there, 
where the king himself sitteth and ministreth the law ; be- 
cause he considered that it was the chiefest duty of a king 
to minister the la ' s. Then, with as pleasant an oration as 
he could, he went about to win unto him, the nobles, the 
merchants, the artificers, and in conclusion, all kind of men; 
but specially the lawyers of this realm. And finally, to the 
intent that no man should hate him for fear, and that his 
deceitful clemency might get him the good-will of the 
people, when he had declared the discommodity of dis- 
cord, and the commodities of concord and unity, he made 
an open proclamation, that he did put out of his mind all 
enmities, and that he there did openly pardon all offences 
committed against him. And to the intent that he might 
shew a proof thereof, he commanded that one Fogge, whom 
he had long deadly hated, should be brought then before 
him. Who being brought out of the sanctuary by, for 


thither had he fled for fear of him, in the sight of the 
people, he took him by the hand. Which thing the com- 
mon people rejoiced-at and praised, but wise men took it 
for a vanity. In his return homeward, whomsoever he met 
he saluted ; for a mind that knoweth itself guilty, is in a 
manner dejected to a servile flattery. 

When he had begun his reign the day of June, af- 
ter this mockish election, then was he crowned the 

day of the same month. And that solemnity was furnish- 
ed for the most part with the self same provision, that was 
appointed for the coronation of his nephew. 

Now fell there mischiefs thick. And as the thing evil 
gotten is never well kept, through all the time of his reign 
never ceased there cruel death and slaughter, till his own 
destruction ended it. But, as he finished his time with the 
best death and the most righteous, that is, to-wit his own ; 
so began he with the most piteous and wicked, I mean the 
lamentable murder of his innocent nephews, the young 
king and his tender brother. Whose death and final infor_ 
tune hath nevertheless so far come in question, that some 
remain yet in doubt whether they were in his days destroy- 
ed or no. Not for that only, that Perkin Warbecke, by 
many folks' malice and more folks' folly, so long space 
abusing the world, was, as well with princes as the poorer 
people, reputed and taken for the younger of those two. 
But for that also, that all things were in late days so covert- 
ly demeaned, one thing pretended and another meant, that 

246 SIR T. MORE'S 

there was nothing so plain and openly proved but that yet, 
for the common custom of close and covert dealing, men 
had it ever inwardly suspect ; as, many well-counterfeited 
jewels make the true mistrusted. 

Howbeit concerning that opinion, with the occasions 
moving either party, we shall have place more at large to 
entreat, if we hereafter happen to write the time of the 
late noble prince of famous memory King Henry VII, or 
percase that history of Perkin in any compendious process 
by itself. But in the meantime for this present matter, I 
shall rehearse you the dolorous end of those babes ; not af- 
ter every way that I have heard, but after that way that I 
have so heard, by such men and by such means, as me- 
thinketh it were hard but it should be true. 

King Richard, after his coronation, taking his way to 
Gloucester, to visit in his new honour the town of which 
he bare the name of his old, devised as he rode to fulfil that 
thing which he before had intended. And forasmuch as his 
mind gave him, that, his nephews living, men would not 
reckon that he could have right to the realm, he thought 
therefore without delay to rid them ; as though the killing 
of his kinsmen could amend his cause, and make him a 
kindly king. Whereupon he sent one John Grene, whom 
he specially trusted, unto Sir Robert Brakenbery, constable 
of the Tower, with a letter and credence also, that the same 
Sir Robert should in anywise put the two children to death. 
This John Grene did his errand unto Brakenbery kneeling 


before our Lady in the Tower ; who plainly answered, that 
he would never put them to death, to die therefore. With 
which answer John Grene returning, recounted the same 
to King Richard at Warwick, yet on his way. 

Wherewith he took such displeasure and thought, that ' 
the same night be said unto a secret page of his, ah ! whom 
shall a man trust ? Those that I have brought-up myself, those 
that I had weened would most surely serve me, even those fail 
me, and at my commandment will do nothing for me. 

Sir, quoth his page, there lieth one on your pailet without, 
who I dare well say, to do your grace pleasure, the thing 
were right hard that he would refuse ; meaning this by Sir 
James Tyrel, who was a man of right goodly personage, 
and, for nature's gifts, worthy to have served a much bet- 
ter prince ; if he had well served God, and by grace ob- 
tained as much truth and good will as he had strength and 
wit. The man had an high heart and sore longed upward ; 
not rising yet so fast as he had hoped, being hindered and 
kept-under by the means of Sir Richard RatclifFe and Sir 
William Catesby ; who longing for no more partners of the 
prince's favour, and namely not for him (whose pride they 
wist would bear no peer) kept him by secret drifts out of 
all secret trust. Which thing this page well had marked 
and known. Wherefore, this occasion offered, of very spe- 
cial friendship, he took his time to put him forward, and 
by suchwise do him good, that all the enemies he had ex- 
cept the devil could never have done him so much hurt. 

248 SIR T. MOKE'S 

For upon this page's words King Richard arose (for this 
communication had he sitting at the draught, a conve- 
nient carpet for such a council), and came-out into the 
pailet-chamber ; on which he found in bed Sir James and 
Sir Thomas Tyrel, of person like and brethren of blood, 
but nothing of kin in conditions. Then said the king mer- 
rily to them, what sirs be ye in bed so soon ? and calling-up 
Sir James, brake to him secretly his mind in this mischiev- 
ous matter, in which he found him nothing strange. Where- 
fore on the morrow he sent him to Brakenbery with a let- 
ter, by which he was commanded to deliver Sir James all 
the keys of the Tower for one night, to the end he might 
there accomplish the king's pleasure in such thing as he 
had given him commandment. After which letter deliver- 
ed and the keys received, Sir James appointed the night 
next ensuing to destroy them, devising before and prepar- 
ing the means. 

The prince, as soon as the protector left that name and 
took himself as king, had it shewed unto him that he should 
not reign but his uncle should have the crown. At which 
word the prince sore abashed, began to sigh and said, alas! 
I would my uncle would let me have my life yet though I lose 
my kingdom ! Then he who told him the tale used him with 
good words, and put him in the best comfort he could. 
But forthwith Avere the prince and his brother both shut-up, 
and all others removed from them, only one called Black 
Will or William Slaughter excepted, set to serve them and 
see them sure. After which time, the prince never tied his 


points nor aught rought of himself; but, with that young 
babe his brother, lingered in thought and heaviness, till 
this traitorous death delivered them of that wretchedness. 

For Sir James Tyrel devised, that they should be mur- 
dered in their beds. To the execution whereof, he appoint- 
ed Miles Forest, one of the four who kept them, a fellow 
fleshed in murder beforetime. To him he joined one John 
Dighton, his own horse-keeper, a big, broad, square, strong 
knave. Then, all the others being removed from them, this 
Miles Forest and John Dighton about midnight, the silly 
children lying in their beds, came into the chamber, and 
suddenly lapped them up among the clothes, so bewrapped 
them and entangled them, keeping-down by force the 
feather-bed and pillows hard unto their mouths, that within 
a while, smothered and stifled, their breath failing, they 
gave-up to God their innocent souls into the joys of heaven, 
leavino- to the tormentors their bodies dead in the bed. 


Whom after that the Avretches perceived, first by the 
struggling with the pains of death, and after long lying 
still, to be thoroughly dead, they laid their bodies naked 
out upon the bed, and fetched Sir James to see them. 
Who, upon the sight of them, caused those murderers to 
bury them at the stair-foot, meetly deep in the ground, un- 
der a great heap of stones. 

Then rode Sir James in great haste to King Richard, 
and shewed him all the manner of the murder ; who gave 
Vol. II. K k 

250 Sill T. MORFS 

him great thanks, and as some say there made him knight. 
But he allowed not, as I have heard, that burying in so 
vile a corner, saying, that he would have them buried in a 
better place, because they were a king's sons, — lo ! the ho- 
nourable courage of a king ! Whereupon, they say, that a 
priest of Sir Robert Brakenbeiy took-up the bodies again, 
and secretly interred them in such place, as, by the occa- 
sion of his death who only knew it, could never since come 
to light. Very truth is it, and well known, that at such 
time as Sir James Tyrel Avas in the Tower for treason 
committed against the most famous prince King Henry VII, 
both Dighton and he were examined, and confessed the 
murder in manner above written. But whether the bodies 
were removed they could nothing tell. 

And thus, as I have learned of them who much knew 
and little cause had to lie, were these two noble princes, 
these innocent tender children, born of most royal blood, 
brought-up in great wealth, likely long to live, to reign and 
rule in the realm, by traitorous tyranny taken, deprived of 
their estate, shortly shut-up in prison, and privily slain and 
murdered, their bodies cast God wot Avhere ; by the cruel 
ambition of their unnatural uncle and his dispiteous tor- 
mentors ! Which things on every part well pondered, God 
never gave this world a more notable example, neither in 
what unsurety standeth this worldly well, or what mischief 
worketh the proud enterprise of an high heart, or finally 
what wretched end ensueth such dispiteous cruelty. 


For first, to begin with the ministers, Miles Forest, at 
S*. Martins, pcicemeal rotted away. Dighton indeed yet 
walketh-on alive, in good possibility to be hanged ere he 
die. But Sir James Tyrel died at Tower-hill, beheaded for 
treason. King Richard himself, as ye shall hereafter hear, 
slain in the field, hacked and hewed of his enemies' hands, 
harried on horseback dead, his hair in despite torn and 
tugged like a cur dog. And the mischief that he took, 
within less than three years of the mischief that he did ; 
and yet all the meantime spent in much pain and trouble 
outward, much fear, anguish and sorrow within. For I 
have heard by credible report of such as were secret with 
his chamberers, that after this abominable deed done, he 
never had quiet in his mind, he never thought himself sure- 
Where he went abroad, his eyes whirled about, his body 
privily fenced, his hand ever on his dagger, his countenance 
and manner like one alway ready to strike again. He took 
ill rest at nights, lay long waking and musing, sore wearied 
with care and watch, he rather slumbered than slept. 
Troubled with fearful dreams, suddenly sometimes started 
he up, leapt out of his bed and ran about the chamber. 
So was his restless heart continually tossed and tumbled 
with the tedious impression and stormy remembrance of his 
abominable deed ! 

Now had he outward no long time in rest. For here- 
upon soon after began the conspiracy, or rather good con- 
federation, between the duke of Buckingham and many 

other gentlemen, against him. 

Kk 2 


The occasion whereupon the king and the duke fell-out, 
is of divers folk divers wise pretended. This duke, as I have 
for certain been informed, as soon as the duke of Gloucester 
upon the death of King Edward came to York, and there 
had solemn funeral service for King Edward, sent thither 
in the most secret wise he could one Persal, his trusty serv- 
ant. Who came to John Warde, a chamberer, of like secret 
trust with the duke of Gloucester, desiring that in the most 
close and covert manner, he might be admitted to the pre- 
sence and speech of his master. And the duke of Glou- 
cester, advertised of his desire, caused him, in the dead of 
the night, after all other folk avoided, to be brought unto 
him in his secret chamber. Where Persal, after his mas- 
ter's recommendation shewed him, that he had secretly sent 
him to shew him, that in this new world he would take such 
part as he would, and wait upon him with a thousand good 
fellows if need were. 

The messenger sent back with thanks and some secret 
instruction of the protector's mind, yet met him again with 
farther message from the duke his master within few days 
after at Nottingham ; whither the protector, from York, 
with many gentlemen of the north country, to the number 
of six hundred horse, was come on his Avay to London- 
ward. And after secret meeting and communication had, 
eftsoon departed. Whereupon, at Northampton, the duke 
met with the protector himself, with three hundred horse, and 
from thence still continued with him partner of all his de- 
vices, till that after his coronation they departed as it seem- 


cd very great friends at Gloucester. From whence as soon 
as the duke came home, he so lightly turned from him and 
so highly conspired against him, that a man would marvel 
whereof the change grew. 

And surely the occasion of their variance is of divers- 
men diversly reported. Some have I heard say, that the 
duke, a little before the coronation, among other things re- 
quired of the protector the duke of Hertford's lands, to 
which he pretended himself just inheritor. And forasmuch 
as the title which he claimed by inheritance, was somewhat 
interlaced with the title to the crown, by that line of King 
Henry before deprived, the protector conceived such indig- 
nation, that he rejected the duke's request with many spite- 
ful and minatory words. Which so wounded his heart with 
hatred and mistrust, that he never after could endure to 
look aright on King Richard ; but ever feared his own life. 
So far forth that when the protector rode through London 
toward his coronation, he feigned himself sick because he 
would not ride with him. And the other, taking it in evil 
part, sent him word to rise and come ride, or he would 
make him be carried. Whereupon he rode-on with evil 
will ; and that notwithstanding, on the morrow rose from 
the feast, feigning himself sick ; and King Richard said, it 
was done in hatred and despite of him. And they say 
that ever after, continually, each of them lived in such 
hatred and distrust of other, that the duke verily looked to 
have been murdered at Gloucester ; from which neverthe- 
less he in fair manner departed. 

234 SIR T. MORE*S 

But surely some right secret at that day deny this. And 
many right wise men think it unlikely, the deep dissembling 
nature of those both men considered, and what need in 
that green world the protector had of the duke, and in 
what peril the duke stood if he fell once in suspicion of the 
tyrant, that either the protector would give the duke occa- 
sion of displeasure, or the duke the protector occasion of 
mistrust. And utterly men think, that if King Richard 
had any such opinion conceived, he would never have suf- 
fered him to escape his hands. Very truth it is, the duke 
was an high minded man and evil could bear the glory of 
another. So that I have heard of some, who said they saw 
it, that the duke, at such time as the crown was first set 
upon the protector's head, his eye could not abide the 
sight thereof, but wried his head another way. 

But men say that he was of truth not well at ease, and 
ihat both to King Richard well known and not ill-taken* 
nor any demand of the duke's uncourteously rejected ; but 
he both with great gifts and high behests, in most loving 
and trusty manner, departed at Gloucester. But soon after 
his coming home to Brecknock, having there in his custody, 
by the commandment of King Richard, Dr. Morton, bishop 
of Ely, who, as ye before heard, was taken in the council 
at the Tower, waxed with him familiar. Whose wisdom 
abused his pride, to his own deliverance and the duke's de- 

The bishop was a man of great natural wit, very well 


learned, and honourable in behaviour, lacking no wise ways 
to win favour. He had been fast upon the part of Kmg 
Henry, while that part was in wealth ; and nevertheless 
left it not nor forsook it in woe ; but fled the realm with 
the queen and the prince while King Edward had that 
king in prison, never came home but to the field, after 
which lost and the party utterly subdued, the other, for 
his fast faith and wisdom, not only was content to receive 
liim, but also wooed him to come ; and had him from 
thenceforth both in secret trust and very special favour. 
Which he nothing deceived. For he being, as ye have 
heard, after King Edward's death, fust taken by the ty- 
rant for his truth to the king, found the mean to set this 
duke in his top, joined gentlemen together in aid of King 
Henry, devising first the marriage between him and Kino- 
Edward's daughter. By -which, his faith declared, and good 
service to both his masters at once, with infinite benefit to 
the realm by the conjunction of those two bloods in one 
whose several titles had long inquieted the land, he fled 
the realm, went to Rome, never minding more to meddle 
with the world. Till that noble prince, King Henry VII, 
gat him home again, made him archbishop of Canterbury 
and chancellor of England, whereunto the pope joined the 
honour of cardinal. Thus living many days in as much 
honour as one man might well wish, ended them so godly, 
that his death with God's mercy well changed his life. 

This man therefore, as I was about to tell ye, by that 
long and often-alternate proof as well of prosperity as ad- 

g$6 SIR T. MORE'S 

verse fortune, had gotten by great experience, the very 
mother and mistress of wisdom, a deep insight in politic, 
worldly drifts. Whereby, perceiving now this duke glad to 
commune with him, fed him with fair words and many 
pleasant praises. And perceiving, by the process of their 
communications, the duke's pride now and then balk out a 
little breed of envy toward the glory of the king, and there- 
by feeling him easy to fall out if the matter were well 
handled, he craftily sought the ways to prick him forward, 
taking alway the occasion of his coming, and so keeping 
himself close within his bonds, that he rather seemed him 
to follow him than to lead him. 

For when the duke first began to praise and boast the 
king, and shew how much profit the realm should take by his 
reign, my Lord Morton answered, ' Surely, my lord, folly 
were it for me to lie. For if I would swear the contrary, 
your lordship would not I ween believe, but, that if the 
world would have gone as I would have wished, King 
Henry's son had had the crown and not King Edward. 
But after that God had ordered him to lose it, and King 
Edward to reign, I was never so mad that I would with a 
dead man strive against the quick. So was I to King Ed- 
ward faithful chaplain, and glad would have been that his 
child had succeeded him. Howbeit if the secret judgment 
of God have otherwise provided, I purpose not to spurn 
against a prick, nor labour to set-up that God pulleth-down. 

And as for the late protector and now king,' and even 

there he left, saying that he had already meddled too much 


with the world, and would from that day meddle with his 
book and his beads, and no farther. 

Then longed the duke sore to hear what he would have 
said, because he ended with the king and there so sudden- 
ly stopped. And exhorted him so familiarly, between them 
twain to be bold to say whatsoever he thought, whereof he- 
faithfully promised there should never come hurt, and per- 
adventure more good than he would ween ; and that him- 
self intended to use his faithful secret advice and counsel, 
which he said was the only cause for Avhich he procured of 
the king to have him in his custody, where he might reckon 
himself at home, and else had he been put in the hands 
of them with whom he should not have founden the like 

The bishop right humbly thanked him, and said, ' In 
good faith, my lord, I love not much to talk much of 
princes, as a thing not all out of peril though the word be 
without fault ; forasmuch as, it shall not be taken as the 
party meant it, but as it pleaseth the prince to construe 
it. And ever I think on JEsop's tale, that when the lion 
had proclaimed, that on pain of death there should none 
horned beast abide in that wood, one that had in his fore- 
head a bunch of flesh fled away a great pace. The fox 
that saw him run so fast, asked him whither he made all 
that haste ? And he answered, in faith I neither wot nor 
reck, so I were once hence, because of this proclamation made 
of horned beasts. What fool ! quoth the fox, thou may est 

Vol. II. LI 


abide well enough, the lion ?neant not bij thee, for it is none 
horn that is in thine head. No marry, quoth he, that wot 
I well enough ; hut what and he call it an horn, where am I 
then r 

The duke laughed merrily at the tale, and said, * My 
lord, I warrant you, neither the lion nor the boar shall 
pike any matter at aivything here spoken ; for it shall never 
come near their ear.' 

* In good faith, sir/ said the bishop, s if it did, the thing 
that I was about to say, taken as well as afore God I 
meant it, could deserve but thank ; and yet, taken as I 
ween it would, might happen to turn me to little good, and 
you to less/ 

Then longed the duke yet much more to wit what it was. 
Whereupon the bishop said, ' In good faith, my lord, as 
for the late protector, since he is now king in possession, 
I purpose not to dispute his title. But for the weal of this 
realm, whereof his grace hath now the governance, and 
whereof I am myself one poor member, I was about to 
wish, that to those good abilities whereof he hath already 
right many, little needing my praise, it might yet have 
pleased God, for the better store, to have given him some 
of such other excellent virtues meet for the rule of a realm, 
as our Lord hath planted in the person of your grace/ 








S. D. 

J5elle prorsus convenire mlhi visum fuit, clarissime Bilibalde, si Thomsc 
Mori illius Britannise decoris Epigrammata, quae nuper Erasmus noster 
Roterodamus ad me misit, tibi nominatim inscriberem : siquidem mul- 
tis adeo rebus similes inter vos estis. Uterque Jurisperitus, uterque cum 
Romane, turn Greece doctus, uterque non in publicis modo suse civi- 
tatis functionibus versans, sed et ob singularem negotiorum explican- 
dorum dexteritatem, et in dandis consiliis prqdentiam, suo quisque 
Principi charissimus : ille potentissimo Britannorum Regi Henrico, tu 
sacratissimo Caesari Maximiliano. Nam quid de fortunis attinet com- 
memorare, quas utrique possidetis amplissimas, ut vel hoc quicquid est 
ornamenti, quod ex divitiis accedere putatur, neutri desit, quin potius 
edendis virtutum, maxime liberalitatis, exemplis abunde supersit ma- 
teria. Sed et utrique pater obtigit non minus Uteris, quam senatoria 
familia clarus. Itaque cum amicitise similitudo sit autor et sequalitas, 
hanc Mori fceturam tibi nuncupare congruentissimum duxi, ut quern 
multis alioqui nominibus amore prosequeris, de his etiam Epigrammatis 
impensius complectaris, ames, magnifacias. Hue adde, quod nemini 

262 T. MORI 

rectius mitti poterant hi lepidissimi lusus, quam ei, qui in hanc, quod 
aiunt, arenam aliquando sit descendere solitus. Nam is demum noverit, 
quiim sit egregia res doctum epigramma, quisquis ipse fuerit suum non- 
nunquam ingenium in hoc exercitationis genere periclitatus. Sed enim, 
id quod te non latet, argutiam habeat epigramma cum brevitate con- 
junctam, sit festivum, et acclamatiunculis, quae iTrnpavypoLTa. Graeci vo- 
cant, subinde claudatur. Quas sane dotes omnes cumulatissime licet 
in his Moricis epigrammatibus reperire, prjeseitim in his quae ipse ge- 
nuit : nam in casteris, qua; e Gracis versa sunt, inventionis laus priscis 
tribuitur. Ouanquam hie quoque non minus magni fieri meretur, com- 
mode reddens ex aliena lingua, quam scribens : labor certe vertentis 
saepe major. Siquidem qui scribit, liber est, & inventioni libere vacat : 
at qui transfert, ad aliud subinde respicere cogitur, nimirum ad id quod 
vertendum desumsit : quod quoties fit, multo plus sudat ingenium, 
quam cum suum aliquid progignit. Utrobique sane mirus est Tho- 
mas Morus : nam elegantissime componit, & felicissime vertit. Quam 
fluunt suaviter hujus carmina ! Quam est hie nihil coactum ! Quam 
sunt omnia facilia 1 Nihil hie durum, nihil scabrum, nihil tenebrico- 
sum. Candidus est, argutus, Latinus. Porro gratissima quadam festi- 
vitate sic omnia temperat, ut nihil unquam viderim lepidius. Credide- 
rim ego Musas quicquid usquam est jocorum, leporis, salium, in hunc 
contulisse. Quam lusit eleganter ad Sabinum alienos pro suis tollen- 
tem liberos. Quam salse Lalum ridet, qui videri Gallus tarn ambitiose 
cupiebat ? Sunt autem hujus sales nequaquam mordaces, sed candidi, 
melliti, blandi, Sc quidvis potius quam amarulenti. Jocatur etiam, sed 
ubique citra dentem : ridet, sed citra contumeliam. Jam inter epigram- 
matographos Pontanum & Marullum inprimis hodie miratur Italia : at 
dispeream, si non tantundem in hoc est naturae, utilitatis vert) plus. 
Nisi si quis inde magnopere se credit juvari, dum suam Neceram cele- 
brat Marullus, & in multis xivitIiIou, Heraclitum quendam agens : aut 
dum Jovius Pontanus veterum nobis Epigrammatistarum ncquitias refert, 


quibus nihil sit frigidius, & boni viri lectione magis indignuin, no cii 
cam Christiani. Scilicet usque adeo vetustatem istis jemulari cordi fuit : 
quam ne conraminarent, sic a sacris abstinucmnt, ut a Graecis olim 
Pomponius Lastus, ne Romana; linguae castimoniani violaret, homo su- 
perstitiose Romanus. Casterum quemadmodum hi lusus Mori inge- 
nium ostendunt & insignem eruditionem, sic judicium nimirum acre, 
quod de rebus habet, ex Utopia cumulatissime eluxerit. De qua paucis 
obiter meminero, quod hanc accuratissimus in Uteris Budaeus, incom* 
parabilis ille melioris eruditionis antistes, & ingens atque adeo unicum 
Galliarum decus, ita ut decebat, Iuculenta praefatione laudavit. Habet 
ea hoc genus decreta, qualia nee apud Platonem, nec.apud Aristotelem, 
aut etiam Justiniani vestri Pandectas sit reperire. Et docet minus for- 
san philosophice, quam illi, sed magis Christiane. Quanquam (audi 
per Musas bellam historiam) cum hie nuper in quodam gravium aliquot 
Virorum consessu, Utopias mentio orta fuisset, & illam ego laudibus ve- 
herem, negabat quidam pinguis, plus habendum Moro gratia^ quam 
Actuario cuipiam scribas, qui in curia aliorum sententias duntaxat eno- 
tet, doriphorematis ritu (quod aiunt) interim assidendo, nihil ipse cen- 
sens : quod diceret ea omnia ex Hythlodaei ore excepta, & a Moro 
tantum in literas missa. Proinde Morum nullo laudandum alioqui no- 
mine, nisi quod haec commode retulisset. Et non deerant, qui homi- 
nis judicio, velut rectissime sentientis, album adjicerent calculum. 7 "A/»« 

a iry tvtok tou Mu|» ^cc(ilyTi!7/u<iy ot^ij, tomtxc ayopa; w thc TV^ovrac, a\Kx thj do- 
Kiy.\sg, napa. to7; 7tqkkoi<;, Jtai Taura 6tt)Aoy«c, ■jrKavwa.vTo;. Postremo si hoc 

quoque scire cupis : Guilielmus Lilius, Mori sodalis, cum quo vertendis 
Graeds epigrammatibus jam olim collusit, quae Progymnasmatum titulo 
sunt inscripta, Britannus est, vir omnifariam doctus, non modo Grascos 
autores, sed & ejus nationis mores vernaculos domestice notos habens, 
ut qui in insula Rhodo fuerit aliquot annos commoratus : is nunc ludum 
literarium, quern Londini Coletus instituit, magna cum laude exercet. 
Quod superest, cum tibi per occupationes licebit, quibus in obeundis 


legatlonibus administrandaque Republica, laboriosissime distraheris, hoc 
libelli in manum cape, lege, & Moro, cujus os, ut puto, nondum vi- 
disti, sed ex scriptis jampridem cognitum habes, fave. Bene vale claris- 
sime vir. Basiled, vn. Cal. Martias. m.d.xviii. 





JYlYN aincX))7ri«5»? o $iXde i yvq(&> tiht h oix-u, 
K«< r{ 5roi«{, <Pnriv, ipiAT«T£ fiu nst? iftot ; 

HSv Se (ivs yeA«V«<, fit^h <piM, $t)tri, ^aSjjdJK, 

Ov%i T^cfti; ■&«.(* cot %%lfj>tw, «*** (tons, 


Murem Asclepiades ut apud se vidit avarus, 
Mus quid in aede facis, dixit, amice mea ? 

Mus blande arridens, tolle, inquit, amice timorem : 
Hie ego non victum quaero, sed liospitium. 


Murem Asclepiades in tecto vidit avarus, 

Et quid apud me 6 mus, inquit, amice facis ? 

Mus ridens, inquit, nihil 6 verearis amice : 

Non abs te victum, sed mihi quaero domum. 


Q t»?5 xAxgovofcois irXim, eel Ss jrevijs. 


Divitias locupletis habes, animam sed egeni : 
Haeredi 6 dives, sed tibi solus egens* 
Vol. U. M m 

m T. MORI 


Divitias locupletis habcs, inopis tibi mens est, 
O miser baeredi dives, inopsque tibi. 


Aygo; a^xifiivi^n ysvo'piv ttctI, ►?» ci ftswWfcr, 

K«J y«e \x.ikv(Z$r iyfii f*s tot' oisto *«< srw*" st©* 


Nuper Achaemenidaj, sed nunc sumus arva Menippi, 
Et nunc hunc rursus, nunc alium petimus. 

Ille etenim nuper, nunc et nos alter habere 
Se putat : at nobis nil nisi casus inest. 


Nuper Acbgemenidae fueram, nunc ecce Menippi : 
Atque alium rursus deveniam ex alio. 

Me proprium nunc iste putat, proprium ille putabat : 
Ast ego nullius sum, nisi sortis ager. 


SsJft«T« KoXXa T^EIpttV, XCCI ^UflCCTCC woAA octlyei^Hv, 
ATtUirhs «? wWl|V S5"(» ETOlfeOTKT)). 


Multas axlificare domos, et pascere multos, 
Est ad pauperiem semita recta quidem. 


Corpora multa alerc, ct complures ponere sedes, 
Ipsa est ad summam semita pauperiem. 



Sif M /3:u<riftiv&', tpiidio c-Sv KTtxtar. 
£W a dtri£ tropes «t©-, os uupu retiree vo^V«f, 

<l>tlO<>i, X.CLI 0U7TCt.t\{ ftETgOV l<pYl^{t,l>tr»Tt>. 

Divitiis utarc tuis, tanquam moriturus : 

Tanquam victurus, parcito divitiis. 
Vir sapiens est ille quidem, qui hajc arabo volutans 

Parcit, quiquc modum sumtibus applicuit. 

Tanquam jam moriturus partis utere rebus : 

Tanquam victurus denuo parce tuis. 
Ille sapit, qui perpensis his rite duobus, 

Parcus erit certo munificusque modo. 

£.XirU "«' <rv rv%% ftiya %ut'r>ire, rov Ai fiiv'l'vftii 

'Ovlh IftOI % Vlih, ■JTUI^iTi T85 filT ifl'l. 

Jam portura inveni, Spes et Fortuna valete : 
Nil mihi vobiscum est, ludite nunc alios. 

Inveni portum, Spes et Fortuna valete : 
Nd mihi vobiscum, ludite nunc alios. 


r«; tmfiit yvftvcs, yvfttl; 6' Wo ydiat 'ti?retfti, 
K«/ ri fieirr)' (w%t£, yvpiov ojmh to tsA©^. 




Ingredior nudus terram, egredior quoque nudus, 
Quid frustra studeo, funera nuda videns ? 


Nudus ut in terram veni, sic nudus abibo : 
Quid frustra sudo, funera nuda videns : 

0<»©-', kxi t« A»£Tg«, xm\ i\ 7rit>l xt/zr§m £g«>w 


Si quis ad infernos properet descendere manes, 
Hue iter accelerant, balnea, vina, Venus. 


Nos caligantis rapiunt ad tecta tyranni, 
Praecipiti cursu, balnea, vina, Venus. 

Ovy^ iiTU /3A«V7« finrnv o >&ym cZvctQccv'ciir, 

Tit (tit y#£ pitnimt wpoHairl;, lxri>i7rift&a, 

E^Ogoii \ya xeivtv xy'vu /3«gi/», o; wots Ak'^ij 
Til una rSf (piAws xlrn 'ix, u, i «$'*«« 


Non a^ue nocet hie, qui sese odisse fatetur, 
Atque bic qui puram fingit amicitiam. 

Osorem monitus fugio : fugiissc scd ilium 
Quomodo qui se mc fingit amare, queo .' 

Pessimus hie certe est iniraicus, quisquis amicus 
Creditus, occulta subdolus arte nocet. 

POEMATA. 2(?0 


Non is tarn Iffidit, Iiquide qui dixerit, odi, 
Quam qui sinceram fingit amicitiam. 

Vitabis certe quern noveris esse nocentcra ; 
Ast ilium nunquam qui tibi dixit, amo. 

Ille mihi gravis est hostis, qui clam nocuisse 
Gaudet, quiquc fidem fert in amicitia. 


rvftviv idSircc XaKcttvct 5r«Aii/Tg«7r«» be to/5,«». ■ 

n«?S' lo» «; 5T«T^«» axvv (Wl* xoS«, 
A»t/>] «i|««-«, Si' iiTfltT®-' !iA«5-; AoyX*l»> 

Apptvx ori%xpzv*i tyioyyov nit Krxptivai. 
AMo't§(<i>> (T3-«^t«; Rirw y^©^, epps mi' atix». 

Eff iitu l^/i\i<ru iruT^iiic, nxi yinrca. 


In patriam amissis celeri pede dum redit armis, 
Conspiciens gnatum saova Lacaena suum, 

Obvia sublata corpus transverberat hasta, 

Haec super occisum mascula verba loquens : 

Degener 6 Spartes genus, ito in Tartara tandem, 
Ito, degeneras et patria et genere. 


Quum nudum e bello gnatum remeare Lacaeua 
Vidit, et in patrios accelerare lares. 

Insultans contra, pectus trajecerat hasta, 

Horrida in extinctum voce virago furens : 

Spartanam quando es patriam mentitus, avosque, 
Ad manes tandem degener, inquit, abi. 


XuXcf '(%&{ Ton szt a; Ton 5r<SS«, xxi y«g «>i)jS»; 
EiKtvx tuii Ivto; <r* Qvtw; vctos £#«. 

270 T. MORI 


Clauda tibi mens est, ut pes: natura notasque 
Exterior certas interioris habet. 


Tardus es ingenio, ut pedibus : natura etenim dat 
Exterius specimen, quod latet interius. 


E/ 5}>> fiaittv a. oh mcQeiv, 
K«i |K>i Trxieiv, xosAov sjv to f-ceinv. 
Ei Ss ?« t«0«v « d« fictSeiv, 
Tj S« ftxleiv i 7rxQHv y«g XV 1 ' 


Si vitare qucas, quae sunt patienda, sciendo : 

Scire quidem pulchrum, quae paterere, foret. 
Sin qua? praescieris vitandi est nulla potestas, 

Quid praescire juvat, quae patiere tamen ? 


Si posset casus quisquam praescire faturos: 

Et vitare simul, scire suave foret. 
Sin patienda tibi prorsus quae scire requiris, 

Quid prasscisse juvat ? namque necesse pati. 


Praescire si queas quae oporteat pati, 
Qucasque non pati, bonum est ut praescias : 
At si te oporteat, licet scias, pati, 
Prascire quid juvat ? necesse enim est pati. 

'Hftag xxi ytvtis 01 Svo, nai (xtttTV, 



Quatnor bic tumulus fratres complectitur : ex Lis 
Lux simul una duos et parif, et periinit. 


Quatuor hie tumulus fratres habet : una duobus 
Lux et natalis, mortis et una fuit. 


Ztvi, kvkv^, Tui/e(&>, cttrvQ®', ptguero? at i^arcc 
Au'Sn;, sugaVn;, dtTtimH, Saenot'iis. 


Taurus, Olor, Satyrusque ob amorem, et Jupiter aurum est, 
Europes, Ledes, Antiopes, Danaes. 


Taurus, Olor, Satyrus, per amorem Jupiter auruni^ 
Europae, Ledes, Antiopae, Danaes. 


JLntec T«5 ftao-a? Quirt* TivS; i>s oA<y»£&ij 
Hu Ti xxi imirtpa Xic-fiifon it dixdrit. 


Musas esse novem referunt, sed prorsus aberrant : 
Lesbica jam Sappho Pieris est decima. 


Quam temere dixere novem quidam esse sorores 
Musarum : en Sappho Lesbis adest decima. 



Aut Satyrus fusus circum a?s, aut arte coactum 
IUud idem circumfusum erat ass Satyro. 

Prorsum admiranda dum circumfleclitur arte, 

Aut Satyrum hoc tegit ajs, aut Satyro as tegitur. 

Aut isti Satyrus jam circumrlectitur aeri, 
Aut isto Satyrus jam circumrlectitur a?re. 

'Ex £«>?? fil 6ioi rtu^Xf hi'fov, Ik T- xi(oio 

Ex vita saxum Dii me fecere : sed ipse 
Ex saxo vitam denub Praxiteles. 

Dii ex viva lapidem fecere : at quum lapis essem, 
Me vivam fecit denuo Praxiteles. 


A«k©- ccfavctivv « ticTrlitelA H*0>l Tr$t 
TlfiYiu-' evioins, Ivn/Sins 6 tux*. 

Ocropis urbs te tota Neoptoleme hac statua ornat, 
Ut faciat, faciunt hinc amor, hinc pietas. 


Hoc te donarat propter pietatem et amorem 
Signo Cecropidum turba, Neoptoleme. 






inaugurattonem Rr;r;is et regin^e 


V ereor, Illustrissime Princeps, dum more virginum, qua? satis forma: 
suae non fidunt, picturas lcnocinio gratiam illepidis versiculis comparare 
studeo, ne eos qua maxime dote placerc potuissent, id est, ipsius rei 
novitate, fraudarim. Nam quum illico in prassentem coronationem 
tuam conscriptos eos pictori exornandos dedissem, eftecit certe podagra, 
qua protinus quam opus inchoavit, incommodissime tentatus est, ut eos 
nunc tandem, serius aliquanto quam res postulare videbatur, exhibeam. 
Itaque si tecum pro insita humanitate tua liberius agi sinis, haud scio, 
majoremne gratiam versiculis nostris pictoris manus adjecerint, an pedes 
ademerint. Ouippe quibus effectum est, ut mihi verendum sit, ne non 
minus sera, ac proinde intempestiva, videri tibi possit hasc nostra gra- 
tulatio, quam olim Tiberio Principi visa est Iliensium ilia consolatio, qua 
eum de morte filii, jamdiu defuncti, consolobantur, quam ille faceta 
dicacitate delusit, respondens, se eorum quoque vicem dolere, quod 
bonum militem amisissent Hectorem. Verum eorum officium, ad luc- 
tum non senescentem modo, sed plane prasmortuum, non potuit esse 
non ridiculum : meum vero ab hoc vitio vendicat immensa ilia de ce- 
lebri coronatione tua lsetitia : quae quum pectoribus omnium tarn effi- 
cacem sui vim ac pra;sentiam impresserit, ut senescere vel integra astate 
non possit, effecit nimirum. ut hoc meum officium non sero re peracta 
atque evanida, sed prsesens in rem pra;sentem pervenisse videatur. Vale 
Princeps IllusLrissime, et (qui novus ac rarus regum titulus est) ama- 

Vol. II. N n 

Q7i T. MORI 








Si qua dies unquam, si quod fuit, Anglia, tempus, 

Gratia quo superis csset agenda tibi : 
Hasc est ilia dies niveo signanda lapillo, 

Laita dies fastis annumeranda Uiis. 
Meta hasc servitii est, base liberlatis origo, 

Tristitias finis, lajtitiaque caput. 
Nam juvenem secli decus 6 raemorabile nostri 

Ungit, et in Regem piceficit is(a tuum. 
Regem qui populi non unius usque, sed orbis 

Imperio dignus totius unus erat. 
Regem qui cunctis lacrymas detergat ocellis, 

Gaudia pro longo substituat gemitu. 
Omnia discussis arrident pectora curis, 

Ut solet excussa nube nitere dies. 
Jam populus vultu liber praecurrit amceno, 

Jam vix laetitiam concipit ipse suam. 
Gaudet, ovat, gestit, tali sibi liege triumphat, 

Ncc quicquam nisi Rex quolibet ore sonat. 
Nobililas, vulgi jamdudum obnoxia feci, 

Nobilitas, iiimium nomen inane diu, 
Nunc caput attollit, nunc tali Rege triumphat, 

El merito : causas unilc triumphet, habet. 
Mercalor variis deterritus ante tributjs, 

Nunc maris insuetas puppe resulcat aquas. 

POEMATA. 2'. r » 

Leges invalidae prius, imo nocere coactse, 

Nunc vires gaudent obtinuisse suas. 
Congaudent omnes paritcr, pariterque rependunl 

Omnes venture damna priora bono. 
Jain qu is abdideral caecis timoranle latebris, 

Proinere quisque suas gaudet et audet opes. 
Jam juvat o, poluit tot i'uruni si qua tot uncas 

Tain circumspectas fallen- prseda maims. 
Non jam divitias ullum est (magnum esse solebat) 

Quaesitas nullo crimen habere dolo. 
Non metus occultos insibilat aure susurros : 

Nemo quod taceat, quodve susurret, habet. 
Jam delatores volupe est contemnere, nemo 

Deterri, nisi qui detulit anie, timet. 
Conveniunt igitur simul aetas, sexus, et ordo, 

Causaque non ullum continet ulla domi, 
Quo minus inlersint, dum sacris rite peractis, 

Rex inil auspiciis regna Britanna bonis. 
Quacunque ingreditur, studio conferta viciendi 

Vix sink angustam turba patere viam. 
Opplentuique ilomus, et pondere tecta laborant, 

Tollitur aifectu clamor ubique novo. 
Nee semel est vidisse satis, loca pluriina mutant, 

Si qua rursus cum parte videre queant. 
Ter spectare juvat : quidni hunc spcciare juvaret, 

Quo natura nihil finxit amabiiius ? 
Mille inter comites excelsior omnibas extaf, 

Et ilignum augusto corpore robur habet. 
Nee minus die manu est agilis, quam pectore fortis : 

Seu res districto debeat ense geri, 
Seu quum protentis avicie concurritur hastis, 

Seu petat oppositum missa sagitta locum. 
Ignea vis oculis, Venus iusidet ore, genisque 

Est color, in geminis qui solet esse rosis. 
Ilia quidem tacies alacn veneranda vigore 

Esse potest tenerae virginis, esse viri. 


278 T. MORI 

Talis erat, Nympbam quum se simulant Achilles : 

Talis, ubi vEmoniis llectora traxit equis. 
O si animi praestans una cum corpore virtus 

Cerni, natura non prohibente, queat. 
Imd etiam vullu virtus pellucet ab ipso : 

Est facies animi nuntia aperta boni. 
Quam matura gravi sedeat prudentia mente, 

Quam non solliciti pectoris alta quies, 
Quoque niodo sortem ferat et moderetur utramque. 

Quanta verecundte cura pudicitia?, 
Quam tranquilla fovet placidum dementia pectus,, 

Quam procul ex illo fastus abest animo : 
Principis egregius nostri (quas fingere non est) 

Pra? se fert certas vultus et ipse notas. 
At qua justitia est, regnandi quas habet artes, 

Prosequitur populum qua pietate suum : 
Ha;c facile ex vultu tiunt illustria nos'ro, 

HaDC sunt ex nostris conspicienda bonis. 
Quod sic afficimur, quod libertate potimur, 

Quodque abiere timor, damna, pericla, dolor -. 
Quod rediere simul, pax, comnioda, gaudia, risus, 

Eximii virtus Principis inde patet. 
Enervare bonas immensa licentia mentes, 

Idque etiam in magnis assolet Lngeniis. 
At quamvis erat ante pius, mores tamcn illi 

Impcrium dignos attulit imperio. 
Nam bona qua? pauci sera fecere senecta, 

Protinus in primo prasstitit ille die. 
Illic.o correptos inclusit carcere, quisquis 

Consilio regnum la?serat ante malo. 
Qui delator erat, vinclis constringitur arctis, 

Ut mala qua? multis fecerat, ipse ferat. 
Ad mercaturas apcrit mare : si quod ab illis 

Durius exactum est ante, remisit onus. 
Despectusque diu Magnatuni nobilis ordo, 

Obtinuit primo pristina jura die. 

POEM ATA. 27 7 

Hie magistraius ct munera publica, vcndi 

Quae suevere malis, donat habenda bonis. 
Et vcrsis rerum vicibu.s feliciter, ante 

Qua? tnlit indoctus praetnia, doctus habet. 
Legibus antiquam (nam versa evertere reguum 

Debucranl) subito viinquc decusque dedit. 
Omhis cumque prills prorsus desciscerel ordo, 

Protinus est omnis redditus ordo sibi. 
Quid quod in his etiain voluit rcscindere quaedam, 

Ut populo possit comtnodus esse suo : 
Qux tamen ante suo novit placuisse parenti, 

Sic patriam, ut decuit, praetulit ille patri. 
Nee miror : quid enim non Principe fiat ab illo, 

Cui cultura ingenuis artibus ingenium est ? 
Castalio quern fonte novem lavere sorores, 

Imbuit et monitis Philosoplua suis. 
Nominibus populus multis obnoxius omnis 

Regi erat : hoc unurn pertimuitque malum, 
At Rex hinc metui quum posset, posset et inde 

Congerere immensas, si voluisset, opes : 
Omnibus ignovit, securos reddidit omnes, 

Sollicitique malum sustulit omne metus. 
Ergo alios populi reges timuere : sed istura, 

Per quem nunc nihil est quod timeatur, amant. 
Hostibus 6 Princeps multum metuende superbis : 

O populo Princeps non metuende tuo. 
llli te metuunt : nos te veneramur, amamus, 

Illis noster erit, cur metuaris, amor. 
Sic te securum, demptoque satellite tutum, 

Undique praestabunt, hinc amor, inde timor. 
Extera bella quidem, coeat si Gallia Scotis, 

Sit tantum concors Anglia, nemo timet. 
At procul intestina aberunt certamina : nam quas 

Semina, quas causas, unde oriantur, habent? 
Primum equidem de jure tuaa tituloque coronas 

Quaestio jam non est uila, nee esse potest. 

278 T. MORI 

Qiiaa cerlare solet jam tu pars ulraque solus ; 

Nobilis banc litem solvit uterque parens. 
Ast magis abs te etiam est populi procul ira, tumultus 

Irapia civilis quae solet esse caput. 
Civibus ipse tuis tarn charus es omnibus unus r 

Ut nemo possit charior esse sibi. 
Quod si forte duces committeret ira potentes, 

Solvetur nutu protinus ilia tuo. 
Tanta tibi est majestatis reverentia sacra?, 

Virlutes merit 6 quam peperere tuae. 
Qua: tibi sunt, fuerant patrum quaecunque tuorum, 

Saecula prisca quibus nil habuere prius. 
Est tibi namque tui Princeps prudentia patris, 

Estque tibi matris dextra benigna tuae. 
Est tibi mens aviae, mens religiosa paterna?, 

Est tibi materni nobile pectus avi. 
Quid mirum ergo, novo si gaudeat Anglia more, 

Cum qualis nunquam rexerat ante, regat ? 
Quid quod laetitia haec quae visa est non potuissc 

Crescerc, conjugio crevit adaucta tuo ? 
Conjugio, superi quod decrevere benigni, 

Quo tibi, quoque tuis consuluere bene. 
IUa tibi conjunx, laetus communia tecum 

Quam vidit populus sceptra tenere tuus : 
Cujus habent tantam caelestia numina curam, 

Ut thalamis ornent nobilitentque tuis. 
Ilia est, quae priscas vincat pietate Sabinas, 

Majestate sacras vicerit hemitheas. 
Ilia vel Acestes castos aaquarit amores, 

Vel prompto superet consilio Tanaquil. 
Illo ore, hoc vultu, forma est spectabilis ilia, 

Qua; talem ac tantam sola decere potest. 
Eloquio foecunda cui Cornelia cedat, 

lnque maritali Peaelopeia tide. 
Ilia tibi Princeps multos devota per annos, 

Sola tui longa mansit amore mora. 


Non illam gcrmana soror, noc patria flexit, 

Non potuit mater, non revocare pater. 
Unum (c matri, (e praetulit ilia soroii : 

Tc patriae, ct cjiaro praetulit ilia patri. 
Ilia tibi felix populos Iiiac inde potentes 

Non dissolvenda junxit amicifia. 
Regibus orta quidem magnis, nihiloquc minornni <• ! 

Rcgum, quam quibus est orta, futura parens. 
Hactenus una tui navein tenet aacora regni, 

Una : sat ilia quidem finna, sed una tanien. 
At Regina tibi sexu fcecunda virili 

Undique firmatam perpetuamquc dabit. 
Proveniunt illi magna ex te commoila, rursus 

Ex ilia veniunt commorla magna tibi. 
Non alia ulla filit certe te digna marito : 

Ilia non alius conjuge dignus erat. 
Anglia tliura feras, sacrumque potentius omni 

Thurc, bonas mentes innoctiasque man us. 
Connubium ut superi hoc, sicuti fecere, secundent, 

Ut data ccelesti sceptra regantur ope. 
Utque ipsis gestata diu brec diademata, tandem 

Et natus nati gestet, et inde nepos. 


Duin peterent sacras Rex et Regina coronas, 

Pom pa qua nunquam pulchrior ulla fuit : 
Aureus explicuit late se Phoebus, eratque 

Laata dies populi consona pectoribus. 
Ast ubi jam mediam Celebris pervenit in urbem, 

Tola statim aethereis pompa rigatur aquis. 
Nulla tamen Phcebi sul)chixit lumina nubes, 

Et minima nimbus perstitit ille mora. 
Res bene contra astus cccidit, rem sive quis ipsam 

Spectet, sive omnem, non potuit melius. 

280 T. MORI 

Principibus nostris uberrima tempora spondent, 
Et Phoebus radiis, et Jovis uxor aquis. 


Cuncta Plato cecinit tempus quae proferat ullum, 

Saape fuisse olim, saspe aliquando fore. 
Ver fugit ut celeri, celerique revertitur anno, 

Bruma pari ut spatio qua; fuit ante, redit : 
Sic inquit rapidi, post longa volumina cceli 

Cuncta per innumeras sunt reditura vices. 
Aurea prima sata est aetas, argentea post banc, 

iErea post illam, ferrea nuper erat. 
Aurea te Princcps redierunt Principe secla. 

O possit vates bactenus esse Plato. 


Qua?cunquc reges ediderunt bactenus 

Equestrium spectacula, 
Lugubris ilia semper aliqua reddidit 

Vel calamitas insignia : 
Vel casus aliquis prospero paium Jove, 

Admixtus inter ludicra : 
Aut rabido transvcrberati militis 

Madens barena sansruine : 
Aut lanceis icta, ungulisve sonipedum 

Obtrita plebs ferocium : 
Turbamve comprimens simul miserrimam 

Lapsae ruina machinae. 
Verum tua haec spectacula 6 Rex omnium 

Quae vidimus pulcherrima 
Nou ulla clades, sed tua digna indol* 

Insignit innocentia. 



Purpureas vicioa fail rosa Candida, utramque 

Utraque dum certant, sit prior utra, premit. 
Utraque sed florem rosa jam coalcscit in unum, 

Qiioquc potest uno lis cad if ilia modo. 
Nunc rosa consurgit, nunc pullulat una ; sed onines 

Una habet hasc dotes, quas liabuere dune. 
Scilicet huic uni species, decor, atque vcnustas, 

Et color, et virtus, est utriusque rosae. 
Alterutram ergo rosara vel solam quisquis amavit, 

Hanc in qua nunc est, quicquid amavit amet. 
At qui tam ferus est, ut iion amct, ille timebit, 

Nempe etiam spinas flos habet istc suas. 


Quinque soloecismis donavi rhetora Flaccum, 

Quinque statim decies reddidit ille mihi. 
Nunc numcro hos, in quit, paucos contentus habeto, 

Mensura accipies quando redibo Cypro. 


Magnam habet in rebus vim ac ponJus opinio. Non vis 

Laedere, velle tamen si videare, peris. 
Sic et Philoleon quondam occidere Crotonas, 

Quern falso credunt velle tyrannum agere. 


Ipse tacet Sextus, Sex'.i meditatur imago. 

Ipsa est rhetor imago, ab imagine rhetor imago est. 


Claudipedem gestat cascis vicinus ocellis, 
Conducitque oculos arte, locatque pedes. 
Vol. II. O o 

282 T. MORI 


Caecus claudipedem gestat, prudenter uterque 

Rem gerit ; atque oculos hie locat, llle pedes> 


Caecus fert claudum, alque opera conducit eadem j 
lslius ilic oculos, illius iste pedes. 


Claudum caecus onus grave, sed taroen utile vectat; 
Prospicit atque oculis, huic regit ille pedes. 


Tristis erat nimium miseris fortuna duobus, 
Huic oculos, illi dempsit iniqua pedes. 

Sors illos coplat similis, claudum vebit alter: 
Sic sua commuui damua levant opera. 

Hie pedibus quovis alienis ambulat, itur 
Huic recta alterius semita luminibus. 


Utilius nihd esse potest, quam fidus amicus, 

Qui tua damna suo leniat officio. 
Fcedera contiaxere simul mendicus uterque 

Cum claudo solidae caecus amicitiae. 
Claudo caecus ait, collo gestabcre nostro : 

Rettulit hie, oculis cajce regere meis. 
Alta superborum tugitat penetralia regura, 

Inque casa concors paupere regnat amor. 


Cum claudo caecus sic lege paciscitur aequa, ut 
Ilic ferat ilium humeris, luinc regat illc oculis. 

POE.MATA. 283 


Pinus ego vends i'acile superabilis arbor, 

Stulte quid undivagam me facis ergo ralcm ? 
An non augurium metnis ? quum persequitur me 

In terra, Boream qui iugiam in pelago ? 


Vends pinus humo sternor, quid raittor in undas ? 
Jam nunc passa prius quam nato naufragiuni. 


Jam ratis acquoreas oneraria fugerat undas, 

Matris at in terrae deperiit sinibus. 
Corripitur flammis, atque aniens auxiliares 

Quas maris hostiles fugerat, optat aquas. 


Mustelam obliquo dilapsa tbramine fugi, 

Sed feror humanos heu misera in Iaqueos. 
Hie ego non vitam celerem, non impetro mortem, 

Servor ut heu rabidis objiciar canibus. 
Qui mea dum laniant scelerato viscera morsu, 

Spectat, et effuso sanguine ridet homo. 
O durum genus, alque fera truculentius omni, 

Nex cui crudelem praebet acerba jocum. 


Ausus erit mordere malum vel mus, vetus hoc est 

Verbum, sed longe res habet ipsa secus. 
Innocuos audet vel mus mordere, nocentem 

Tangere non audet terntus ipse draco. 


2S4 T. MORI 


Te crepitus perdit, nimium si ventre retentes : 

Te propere emissus servat item crepitus. 
Si crepitus servare potest et perdere, nunqukl 

Terrificis crepitus regibus aequa potest ? 


Victor ad Herculeas penetres licet usque columnas, 
Te terrae cum aliis pars manet agqua tamea. 

Iro par moricre, obolo non ditior uno : 

Et tua te (sed non jam tua) solvet humus. 


Te ditem appellant omnes, ego plane inopem te. 

Nam facit usus opes, testis Apollophanes. 
Si tu utare tuis, tua fiunt : sin tua serves 

Haeredi, tua jam nunc aliena facis. 


Insidiata vagam comprendit aranea muscam, 

Et lentis trepidam cassibus implicuit : 
Jamque hiat in morsum. Sed sspeos inter et offam, 

Ut verbam vetus est, multa venire solent. 
Sors muscae miseretur, et adversatur ArachnaB, 

Inque malam e misera transtulit exitium. 
En stimulante fame properans invadis utramque 

Sturne ; ruunt casses : haec tiigit, ilia perit. 
Sic misero spes est plerumque secure sub ipsa, 

Inter et armatos mills nialo metus est.. 


Barbati Cynici, haculoquc vagantis egeni, 
In ccena magnani coaspicimus sopkiam. 


Scilicet hie raphanis Cynicus primum atque lupino,. 

<fc virtus ventri serviat, abstinuit. 
A( nivi um postquain bulbum ocellis, 

• : im rigidum et sapiens excutit ingeniura : 
Flagitat, atqne avide spein prater devorat omnem,. 

Virtuti bulbus nil, ait, olliciet. 


Thessalus Hippocrates, Cous genere, hacjacet urna, 

Plioebi immortalis sermne progenilus. 
Crebra trophaea tulit morborum arrais medicinae, 

Laus cui magna : nee id sorte, sed arte fuit. 


Hie servus ilum vixit, erat, nunc mortuus idem, 
Non quam lu, Dari magne, minora potest. 


Ante fuit solo Sosime corpore serva, 

JNunc fato pars est baec quoque missa manu. 


Pisces dum captat piscator, divitis ilium 

Nata videt, visi rlagrat amore viri : 
Delude viro nubit. Sic illi ex paupere vita, 

Magna supcrbarum copia venit opum. 
Munexis hoc nostri est, Venus inquit : verba retorquens 

Fortuna, ha?c nostri est muneris, inquit hera. 


Non tibi qubd faveat, sic te fortuna levavit : 
Vel de te liqueat, vult, sibi quid liceat. 



Invidia es; p> jor rniseratio, Pindarus inquit, 

Felici invidiam splendida vita facit. 
At nimium miseros saifietamur : dent superi ut sira 

Nee nimium fehx, nee miserandus ego. 
Scilicet extremis long* mediocria prastant : 

lnfima calcantur, summa repente ruunt. 


Cur patimur stulti ? namque liaec vecordia nostra, 

Urat ut indomitus pectora nostra me(us. 
Seu mala non venient, jam nos metus urit inanis : 

Sin venient, aliud lit metus ipse malum. 

Ipse quidem cecini, scripsit divinus Homerus. 


Lis agitur, surdusque reus, surdus fuit actor : 

Ipse tamen judex surdus utroque magis. 
Pro ffdihus hie petit ass, qu into jam mense peracto. 

Ille refert, tota nocte mini acta mola est. 
Aspicit bos judex : Et quid coutenditis, inquit, 

An non utrique est mater ? utrique alite. 


.Lychne reversuram ter te juravit arnica, 

Nee redit, 6 pcenas det tibi, si Deus es. 
Ludenti cum node places, extinguere ; et aufer 

Tam sacra tarn sacris lumina luminibus. 

POEM ATA. 287 


Nequitcr arrisi tibi, quae modo gratia ? amantum 

Turbam in vestibidis Lais habens juvcimm, 
Hoc Veneri speculum dico. Nam me cerncre talem 

Qualis sum nolo, qualis eram nequco. 


Non ego quos rapuit mors, deflco, delleo vivos,. 
Quos urunt longo fata futura metu. 


Fleres, si scires unum tua tempora mensem ; 
Rides, quum non sit forsitan una dies. 


Mellis apes fluvios ipsse sibi in aetbere fingunt, 

Ipsa? quos babitant aedificant thalamos. 
Grata apis humanae frugesque facillima vita? est, 

Non bovis, aut curva? falcis egebit ope. 
Tantum opus hie situla est, ubi dulcia pocula mellis 

Ubcrtim parvo fundat ab alveolo. 
Congaudete sacra, varios et pascite flores, 

./Etherei volucres nectaris artifices. 


Saepe caput tingis, nunquam tinctura senectam, 

Aut tensura genis quae tibi ruga tuis. 
Desine jam faciem stibio perfundere totam, 

Ne persona tibi hasc sit modo, non fades. 
Cum nihil assequeris fuco stibioque, quid amens 

Vis tibi ? nunquam Hecuben haec facient Heleneru 

288 T. MOTII 


Hens liorao si memor es, quid te dum gignerei egit 

Turn paler, ex annuo jam tumor ille cadet. 
At Plato te fastu dum somniat, inflat iuani, 

iEternumque vocat semen et aethereum. 
Factus es ecce luto, quid suspicis alta ? sed istud 

Plasmate, qui te ornat, nobiliore feret. 
Quin si vera voles audire, hbidine fceda 

Natus es e coitu, guttula et e niisera. 


Non Cumaea sacro vates correpta furore, 

Certius affiata mente futura videt : 
Quam mcus astrologus divina clarus in arte 

Pras videt inspccto sidere praeterita. 


Astra tibi aethereo pandunt sese omnia vati, 

Omnibus et qua? sint fata futura, monent. 
Omnibus ast uxor quod se tua publicat, id te 

Astra, licet videant omnia, nulla monent. 


O chare nobis siderum coeleslium 
Inspector astris, ipse nunc Phoebus tibi 
Optem libenter indicate clanculum 
Quiddam, quod ad te pertinens quam maxime, 
Dum cuncta lustro, deprebendi pridie, 
Quam hi redires nuper ex aula domum. 
Sed territat Venus, minatur et mihi 
Secundum amorein, qui nihilo secundior 
Mihi sit fttturus, quam fiiit Daphnes prior : 
Quicquani cuivis garrulus si deferam 
J)e se marito, quale detuli priua. 


Ncscibis ergo hoc, caeteras reruni vices 
Docobo te. Nuplaj seel in rebus tua; 
Si quid tua non cedat ex sententia, 
Hoc omnibus prius patebit, quam tibi. 


Quid inter alta suite quaeris sidera 
In humo manentis conjugis mores tua; ? 
Qaid alta spectas ? infra id est cui tu times ? 
Dum jam tu, agat quid ilia, quasris in polo, 
Ilacc qua; libebat, interim cgit in solo. 


Sidera vestigas inter coelestia demens 

Cur dubia semper meute quid uxor agat ? 
Si nescis qualis tibi sit, crede esse pudicara : 

Quod tibi persuades, si bene, jam bene babes. 
Quid cognoscere vis, qua? non nisi cognita laedunt ? 

Quid fieri studio vis miser ipse ttio ? 
Hie furor Laud dubie est, quum jam desistere possis : 

Quaerere sollicite, quod reperire times. 


Saturnus procul est, jamque olim caecus, ut aiunt, 

Nee prope discernens a puero lapidem. 
Luna verecundis formosa incedit ocellis, 

Nee nisi virgineum virgo videre potest. 
Jupiter Europen, Martem Venus, et Venerem Mars, 

Daphnen Sol, Hjrcen Mercurius recolit. 
Hinc factum Astrologe est, tua quum capit uxor amantes, 

Sidera significent ut nihil inde tibi. 
Vol. II. Pp 

590 T. MORI 


Quid forma confcrt, Hercules nihil ceruo. 
Si ferveas, deformis ccce formosa est : 
Sin frigeas, formosa jam sit informis. 
Quid forma confert, Hercules nihil cerno. 


Saepe suam inspectis uxorem Candidus astris, 

Praedicat en vates omnibus, esse bonam. 
Inspectis iterum, postquam uxor adultera fugit, 

Pracdicit vates omnibus, esse malam. 


lieu miseris quicquid misero blanditur in orbe, 

Illico marcescens, ut rosa verna cadit. 
Nee quenquam usque adeo placidis complectitur ulnis 

Sors, ut non aliqua parte molesta premat. 
Imbibe virtutes, et inania gaudia sperne : 

Sunt animi comites gaudia vera boni. 


Nos velut instabiles ventus quatit omnis aristas : 

Quolibet impellunt spes, dolor, ira, metus. 
Nil habet in rebus pondus mortalibus ullum, 

Momento pudor est, si moveare levi. 



Non stultum est morfem matrem timuissc quietis ? 

Quam lugiunt morbi, mcestaque pauperies ? 
Sola semel miseris sesc mortalibus oftert, 

Nee quisquam est ad quem mors iterum rediit. 
At reliqui morbi varii, multique vicissim 

Nunc hunc, nunc ilium, terque quaterque pTemnn(, 

POEMATA. 291! 


Vita Sibyllinos raea si duraret in annos, 

Non bonitas unquam praesnlis cxciderct. 
Jugera multa soli local, amplas possidet urbes, 

Centum stipatus progreditur famulis. 
Me tamen exigui census, quum nuper adirem, 

Excipit, et vere comiter alloquilur. 
Quin abiens nigri gustarem ut pocula vini, 

E loculo clavem libcrat ipse suo. 


Lubrica non servat certum fortuna tenorem, 

Sed rotat instabilem caxa subinde rotam. 
Sternere summa libet, libet infima tollere, rerum 

Inque vicem nulla vertere lege vices. 
Maxima quum bona sunt, jam sunt mala proxima : rursus 

Maxima quum mala sunt, proxima jam bona sunt, 
Forti animo mala fer, nee bis miser esto doiore i 

Ne cito Venturis praemoriare bonis. 


Non tibi vivacem furor est spondere senectam, 

Quum non sit vitas certa vel hora tuae. 
Finge age Nestoreum sis perventurus in aevum, 

Longa tument multis tempora foeta malis. 
Omnia ut efiugias viridis quibus angitur astas, 

Taedia longa tibi curva senecta feret. 
Tu tamen ad seros (nulli quod contigit) annos 

Ut venias nullo percitus ante malo. 
Hoc tamen exiguum est, ubi nunc tot Nestoris anni? 

Ex. tanto superest tempore nulla dies. 


292 T. MORI 


Tristia qui pateris, perfer : Sors tristia solvet. 
Quod si non faciat Sors, tibi mors facict. 


Nugamur, mortemque procul, procul esse putamus : 

At mediis latet haec abdita visceribus. 
Scilicet ex ilia, qua primum nasciraur hora, 

Prorepunt juncto vitaque morsque pede. 
Partem aliquam furtim qua se metitur, et ipsam 

Surripit e vita quselibet hora tua. 
Paulatim morimur, momento extinguimur uno, 

Sic oleo lampas deficiente perit. 
Ut nibil interimat, tamen ipso in tempore mors est: 

Quin nunc, interea dum loquimur, morimur. 


Divitias animi solas ego judico veras, 

Qui rebus pluris se facit ipse suis. 
Hunc adeo ditem, huncopulentum rite vocamusj 

Magnarum quis sit qui videt usus opum. 
Calculus at sit quem misere numerandus adurit. 

Qui misere semper divitias cumulet : 
Hie ut apes parvo crebroque foramine ibsso, 

Sudat in alveolo, mella alii corned unt. 


Dejiciat miseram tibi nulla molestia mentem. 

Si longa est, levis est : si gravis est, brevis est. 


Dejicit heu miseram, prosternit et utraque mentem. 
Longa, nee ulla levis : nee gravis, ulla brevis. 



Somniat, hie dilern qui se putat esse, videtque 
Morte experrectus illico quam sit inops. 


Duriter cs quicunque viris oppressus iniquis, 

Spem cape : spes luclus leniat alrua tuos. 
Versilis in melius vel te Forluna reponet, 

Ut solet excussa nube uitere dies. 
Aut libcrtatis vindex frendentc tyranno, 

Eruet injecta mors miserata manu. 
Auferet haec (quo plus libi gralificetur) et ilium, 

Afleret atque tuos protinus ante pedes, 
llle opibus tantis fastuquc elatus inani, 

Illc ferox crebris ante satellitibus. 
Hie neque torvus erit, vultu ncc ut ante superbo, 

Sed miser, abjectus, solus, inermis, inops. 
O quid vita tibi dedit unquam tale? vicissim 

Jam ridendus erit, qui metuendus eral. 


O cor triste malis misere immersumque profundis 

Rumpere : sit poena; terminus iste tuae. 
Sanguinolenta tua? domiuas tua vulnera pande, 

Ilia brevi est, quae nos dividet una duos. 
Quam miser ergo diu sic lieu lacrjmabo, querarque ? 

Mors ades, et tantis lionida solve malis. 



Dii melius, venere mini hac qua? somnia nocte ? 

Tota semel mtindi machina versa ruit. 
Nee sua lux Phcebo constabat, nee sua Phoebe, 

Jamque tumens omnem straverat ffquor humurn. 

294 T. MORI 

Majus adkuc rairum, vox en raihi dicere visa est, 
Heus tua jam pactam fregit arnica (idem. 


E rete extrahor, e digitis in rete relabor, 

Heu semel heu fugi, bis miser ut caperer. 


Blanda, salax, petulans, audax, vaga, garrula virgo, 
Si virgo est, virgo est, bis quoque qua; peperit. 


Hoc quisque dicit, rebus in mortalibus 
Quod tristius sit, ac magis viros gravet, 
Natura nil produxit his uxoribus. 
Hoc quisque dicit, dicit : at ducit tamen. 
Quin sex sepultis, septimam ducit tamen. 


lies uxor gravis est, poterit tamen utilis esse, 
Si propere moriens det sua cuncta tibi. 


Haec tua quam nuper pinxit Diodorus imago, 
Cujusvis magis est, quam tua Menodote. 


Sic se totum istliac expressit imagine pictor, 
Lt nulli tarn sit, quam tibi dissimdis; 


Non est cura mihi Gygis 
Qui Rex Sardibus impcrat. 


Aurum non ego pcrsequor, 
Rcgcs non raiser aemulor. 
Curse est, barba suavibus 
Unguentis mini perfluat. 
Cura est, ut redolentibus 
Cingam tempora floribus. 
Curse sunt hodierna ml, 
Nam quis crastiua noverit ? 
Tomato bene Mulciber 
Argento mihi poculum 
Jam nunc effice concavum, 
Et quantum potes imbibura. 
Et fac illud ut ambiant 
Non currus, neque sidera, 
Orion neque flebilis. 
Vites fac virides mihi, 
Botri fac mihi rideant 
Pulchro cum Dionysio. 



Febre laboranti raedicus, feret Q tibi certe 

Aut nihil, aut tantum balsamus, iuquit, opem. 
Sed nemo me prater habet, perpaululum et ipse, 

Gutta emitur libris non minus una decern. 
Nunc mihi qninque dabis, reliquas mihi quinquc datums 

Sanus, ut has nunquam te moriente petam. 
Nunquam rem facies, tanto in discrimine qui vis 

Tam charre guttae ponere dimidium. 
Pacta placent, miniraoque e vitro et sindone tecto, 

Jacta petit gladii cuspide gutta rnerum, * 

Abluat ut vino mucronem, aeger rogat : absit, 

Inquit, adhuc libras bis gerit ille decern. 
Gutta, ait, una sat est, et erat satis : unica tantum 

Gutta potest : imam vix bibit, et m&ritiir. 

293 T. MORI 

O nimis adverso contractum sidere pactum, 
Hinc gutae, hinc vita: dimidium pcriit. 


Tingis capillos foemina, at qui scis, rogas ? 
Nigri fuere, quum referres e foro. 


EtBgie studuit tua in hac ostendere pictor, 
Expressisse queat quam tibi dissimilem. 


Hac tua tarn vere fades expressa tabella, 

Ut jam non tabula hac sit tibi, sed speculum. 


Quam mihi monstrasti demiror Posthume pictor, 
, Effigiem quanta finxerat arte tuam. 
Inspicit banc quisquis, si tc conspexerit unquam, 

Si non artificis tangitur invidia. 
Tam simile hie ovo non esse fatebitur ovum, 

Elhgies ba3C est quam tibi dissimilis. 


Amicus et sodalis est Lalus mihi, 
Britanniaqiie natus, altusque insula. 
At cum Britannos Gallia? cultonbus 
Oceanus ingens, lingua, mores dirimant : 
Spernit tamen Lalus Biitannica omnia, 
Miratur, expetitque cuncta Gallica. 
Toga superbit ambulans in Gallica, 
Amatyue raultum Gallicas lacernulas. 
Zona, locello, atque ense gaudet Gallico, 
J illro, bireto, pileoque Gallico. 

POEM ATA. 307 

£t calceis, et subligare Gallico, 

Toloque denique apparatu Gallico. 

Nam et unuin habet ministrum, eurnque Gallicuxu- 

Sed quern (licet velit) ncc ipsa Gallia 

Tractare quite! plus (opinor) Gallice, 

Stijxmdii nihil dat, atque id Gallice. 

Festitque tritis pannulis, et Gallice hoc. 

Alit cibo parvo, et malo, idque Gallice. 

Lahore multo cxercct, atque hoc Gallice. 

Pugnisque crebro pulsat, idque Gallice. 

In ccetu, et in via, et foro, et frcqucutia 

Rixatur, objurgatque semper Gallice. 

Quid ? Gallice illud ? imo semigallice. 

Sermouem enim (ni fallor) ille Gallicum 

Tam callet omnem, quam Latinum Psittacus. 

Crescit tanien, sibique nimirum placet. 

Verbis tribus si quid loquatur Gallicis. 

Aut Gallicis si quid nequit vocabulis, 

Conatur id, verbis licet non Gallicis 3 

Canore saltern personare Gallico, 
Palato hiante acutulo quodam sono, 
Et fcemina; instar garrientis molliter, 
Sed ore pleno, tanquam id impleant faba?, 

Balbutiens videlicet suaviter 
Pressis quibusdam Uteris, Galli quibus 
Lieptientes abstinent, nihil secus, 
Quam vulpe Gallus, rupibusque navita. 
Sic ergo linguam ille et Latinam Gallice, 
£t Gallice linguam sonat Britannicam. 
Et Gallice linguam refert Lombardicara. 
Et Gallice linguam refert Hispanicam. 
Et Gallice linguam sonat Germanicam. 
Et Gallice omnem, praeter unam Gallicam. 
Nam Gallicam solam sonat Britannice. 
At quisquis insula satus Britannica, 
Tol. 1L Q q 

"998 T. MORI 

Sic patriam insolens fastidiet suam, 

Ut more simiae laboret fingere, 

Et aemulari Gallicas iueptias : 

Ex amne Gallo ego bunc opinor ebrium. 

Ergo ex Britanno ut Gallus esse nititur, 

Sic dii jubete, fiat ex gallo capus. 


Nunc video baud rerum fanturn, sed et ipsa virorum 

Nomina non temere, sed ratione dari. 
Nicoleus nomen medici est : qui convenit ? inquis, 

Hoc potius nomen debuit esse ducis. 
Dux populos arm is vincit : sed et iste venenis 

Et populum, et fortes sternit ubique duces. 
Ssepe ducem bello repetunt, bis nemo rebellat 

Hulc medico : vero est nomine Nicoleus. 


Jpsam judice me Venerem superabat Apellis, 

Hacc tua qua? visa est nuper imago mihi. 
Piclor in banc omnes unam consumpserat artes, 

Spectari hac una quid valuit, voluit. 
Qualis in ore decor, qui nasus, qualia labra, 

O quales oculi, qualis ubique color. 
Tam fuit ex omni longe pulclierrima parte, 

Quam fuit a nulla parte tibi similis. 


Nuper ut ingredior pictoris forte tabernam, 

Effigies oculis est tua visa meis. 
Ex te dum rfictor sic exprimat omnia, vulturu 

Immotum credo te tenuisse diu. 
Sic te totum inspecta refert : intclligo cuja est, 

Protinus ut pictor rettulit esse tuam. 



Cbrysalus heu moritur dives, dolef, ingemit: unquam. 

Nemo magis tristi pectore fata tulit. 
Non quoniam ipse pent, cui nil se vilius ipso est, 
Sed aummi pereunt quatuor in tuuiulunu 


Quum mihi grammaticus mentem subit Heliodorus, 
Nostra solcecismos illico lingua timet. 


Hoc anno in regno rex nobilis ille quiescet 

Gallorum, celeber scripserat astrologus. 
Rex vix inccepto vita detungitur anno, 

Jam nil se vates qua tueatur, babet. 
Rem quidam risu coepit defendere, verum est 

Augurium, rex jam nomie quievit ? ait. 
Latius hoc verbum prorepit, et undique ridens 

Id populus, rex jam nonne quievit ? ait. 
Audit ut in populo hoc vates, jam serio verum est 

Augurium, rex jam nonne quievit ? ait. 


Nunquam Procle manu nares emungere possis : 

Nam tua nare manus, magna licet, minor est. 
Quando Jovem inclamas sternutans, quippe nee audis : 

Tam procul ab nasus prominet aure tuus. 


Sunt etiam in Musis furias, quibus ipse poeta 

Fis, per quas temere carmina multa facis. 
Ergo age plurima scribe precor : tibi nempe furorem 

Non ego majorem quem precer invenio. 




Grus ne le rapiat pygmara sanguine gaudens, 
Si sapias, media tutus in urbe mane. 


Tu teipsum oblectes, et vulgi verba loquacis 
Sperne : bene hie de te dicet, et ille male. 


Quem mordent pulices, extinguit morio lycbnum, 
Non me, inquit, cernent amplius hi pulices: 


Ferme dimidium vitae dormitur, in illo 

^Equates spacio dives inopsque jacent, 
Ergo Creese tibi regum ditissime, vitae 

Ferme dimidio par erat Irus egens. 


Non es, dum in somno es, dum nee te vivere sentis, 

Felix, at somnus ni veniat, miser es. 
Qui felix igitur sorte indulgente superbit, 

Inflatusque levi prosperitate tumet : 
Nox quoties venit, aut toties jam desinit esse 

Felix, aut toties incipit esse miser. 


Legitimus immanissimis 
Rex hoc tyrannis interest : 
Servos tyrannus quos regit, 
Rex liberos putat suos. 



Magna diem magnis exhaurit cura tyrannis, 

Nocte venit reqities, si tamen ulla venit. 
Nee (amen hi pluma requiescunl mollius ulla, 

In dura pauper quam requicscit humo. 
Ergo tyranne tibi luce pars felicissima vitaE est, 

In qua mendico par tamen esse velis. 


Princeps pins nunquam carebit liberis, 

Totius est regui pater. 
Princeps abundat ergo felicissimus, 
Tot liberis, quot civibus. 


Totum est unus homo regnum, idque cohaeret amore : 

Rex caput est, populus castera membra facit. 
Rex quot habet cives (dolet ergo perdere quenquam) 

Tot numerat partes corporis ipse sui. 
Exponit populus sese pro rege, putatque 

Quilibet hunc proprii corporis esse caput. 


Perdendo bona nostra fere cognoscimus omnes, 

Dum possidemus, spernimus. 
Sic populo quoque saepe malus, sed serd benignum 

Commendat haares principem. 


Erigit ergo tuas insane superbia cristas, 

Quod flexo curvat se tibi turba genu, 
Qudd populus nudo surgat tibi vertice, quod sit 

Multorum in manibus vitaque morsque tuis. 

3Q* T. MOItl 

At somnus quoties artus adstringit iuertes, 

Hsec lua jam toties gloria die ubi sit? 
Tunc ignave jaces trunco non impar inani. 

Aut paulo functis ante cadaveribus. 
Quod nisi conclusus timide intra tecta lateres,. 

In cujusque foFet jam tua vita manu. 


Quid bonus est princeps ? canis est custos gregis, inde 
Qui fugat ore lupos ; quid malus ? ipse lupus. 


Raptam se queritur virgo, crimenque negari 

Non potuit ; raptor jam peritums erat. 
Callidus at subito patronus protrahit ipse 

Membrum deducta veste virile rei. 
Hoccine virgo tua membrum fuit, inquit, inalvo? 

Ilia verecundo mota pudore negat. 
Vicimus 6 judex, clamat patronus, ea ipsa est : 

Id negat en sine quo se negat ipsa rapi. 


Dum fuiti metuit damnari Clepticus, amplo 

Non sine consuluit munere causidicum. 
Hie ubi sa;pe diuque immensa volumina volvitj 

Spero, ait, effugies Clepticc, si fugias. 


Sa?pe patri frater quod debuit esse superstes, 

Hoc velut uno omnes astrologi ore canunt. 
Ast Hcrmoclides obiturum prap patre solus 
Dixit : sed dixit, postquam obiisse videt. 



Damnati ac morituri in terrae claudimur omnes 

Carcere, in hoc mortem carccrc nemo fugit. 
Carceris in raultas describitur area partes, 

Inque aliis alii partibus aoditicant. 
Non alitor quam de regno de carcere certant, 

In caeco cupidus carcere condit opes. 
Carcere obambulat hie vagus, hie vincitur in antro ; 

Hie servit, regit hie ; hie canit, ille gemit. 
Jam quoqne dum career non tanquam career amatur : 

Hiuc aliis alii mortibus extrahimur. 


Non tiraor invisus, non alta palatia regem, 

Non compilata plebe tuentur opes. 
Non rigidus vili mercabilis aere satelles 

Qui sic alterius fiet, ut hujus erat. 
Tutus erit populum qui sic regit, utiliorem 

Ut populus nullum censeat esse sibi. 


Quicunque raultis vir viris unus pr3Dest, 

Hoc debet his quibus praeest : 
Praeesse debet neutiquam diutius, 

Hi quam volent quibus prasest. 
Quid impotentes principes superbiunt ? 

Quod imperant precario ? 


Ex atomis Epicurus totuni fabricat orbem, 

Alchime, dum nihil his credidit esse minus. 
Ex te fecisset, si turn Diophante fuisses, 

Nempe atomis multo es tu Diophante minor. 

301 T. MORI 

Aut forte ex atomis jam caetera scriberet csse ; 
Ast ipsas ex te scriberet esse atomos. 


Hi duo destruxere duos, incest us et almus : 

Dum contra occurrunt, hinc amor, inde pudor. 

Pbraedram amor Hippolyti consumserat igneus, ipsiirri 
Intcrimitque sacer proh pudor Hippolytum. 


Gradivigenus Hector ave, si quid sub humo audis, 

Respira, et patriae nomine cresce tua3. 
libs urbs colitur, nunc irrclyta gens colit illam, 

Quam tu Marte minor, Martis arnica tamen. 
Myrmidones periere, ades et die Hector Achilli, 

Esse sub JEneadis undiquc Thessaliam. 


Ingratum estquicquid nimium est; sic semper amarum est, 
Ut verbum vetus est, mel quoque si nimium est. 


Nunquam vixisti 6 pauper, nunquam marieris, 

Nempe miser visus vivcre morttms es. 
it quibus immensa est fortuna, peounia multa, 

His vitae tinem mors aliquando tacit. 


Rebus in bumarristnagna est doctrina tacerc, 
Testis erit sapiens bic mini Pythagoras. 

Nempe loqui doctus, reliquos docet ille tacere, 

Magnum boc ad requiem pliarmacon invcuieiis. 



Quid inodo sreclorum miremur monstra priorum, 

Quod loquitur (aurus, quod cadit imbre lapis ? 
Monstra antiqua novum superat, surrexerat ccce 

Ante tenebrosuni Gcllia vesper hcri. 
Plus dicturus eram, nisi me ridere putares : 

Surrexit mediam sed tamen ante diem. 
Mira licet sa;pe, ilia tamen videre priores, 

Saspe potest fbrsan cernere posteritas. 
Istud at hesternam nemo unquam viderat ante ; 

Et post hanc poterit nemo videre diem. 


Cur ita me laedis Venerem Tritonia virgo, 

Corripis in digitos cur mea dona tuos ? 
Scilicet Idaeis memor esto in rupibus olim, 

Me, non te, pulchram censuit esse Paris. 
Hasta tua est, ensisque tuus : mihi vendico malum. 

Mars modo sit malo pristinus ih'e satis. 


IS os tenuem strict is spirantcs aera fibris 

Vivimus, et Phcebi lampada conspicimus. 
Quotquot vivimus hie, sumus oranes organa, sed quae 

Vivificis animat flatibus aura levis, 
Quod tua si tenuem restringat palma vaporem, 

Eripiens animam miseris usque stygem. 
Sic sumus ergo nihil, Plutoni pascimur omnes, 

E flatu minimo nos levis aura fovet. 


Plumbeus bic mucro tuus est obtusus, hebesque, 
Mucro aciem ingenii fert tuns iste tui. 
Vol. II. R r 

50G T. MORI 


Maxima pars hominum fama sibi plaudit inani, 

Atque levis vento fertur in astra levi. 
Quid populi tibi voce places ? sa3pe optima caxus 

Dat vitio, et temere deteriora probat. 
Sollicitus pendes alicno semper ab ore, 

Ne laudem cerdo quam dedit, eripiat. 
Fors tamcn irridet, quo tu laudante superbis : 

Ex auimo laudef, laus tamcn ilia fugit. 
Quid tibi fama facit ? toto lauderis ab orbe, 

Articulus doleat, quid tibi fama facit ? 


Muscas e cratere tulit conviva priusquam 

Ipse bibit, reddit rursus, ut ipse bibit. 
Addidit et causam : muscas ego non amo, dixit, 

Sed tamen e vobis nescio num quis amet. 


Os canis implet anas, alium capturus hiabat, 

Non capit : at quam jam ceperat ore, fugit. 
Sic miser interea dum rem captas alienam, 

Sffpius et merito perdis avare tuam. 


In prasepe canis fceno nee vescitur ipse, 

Nee sinit ut fcenum qui cupit edat equus. 
Servat avarus opes, opibus non utitur ipse, 

Atque alios uti qui cupiunt, prohibet. 


Qua gladium intrudes, per ventremnc, anne papillas? 
Te peperit venter, tc lactavere papilla:. 




Da bona sive rogerc Dcus, scu nulla rogcrc : 
£t mala sive rogerc ncga, scu nulla rogcre. 


Qui capit uxorem dcfuncta uxore secundam, 
Naufragus in tumido bis natat ille frcto. 


Somne quies vitae, spes et solamcn egenis, 

Divitibus noctu quos facis esse pares. 
Tristia demulces Lethaso pectora rore, 

Excutis et sensum totius inde raali. 
Lasta benignus opes inopi per somnia mittis. 

Quid falsas rides dives opes inopis ? 
Divitibus vere curas, tormenta, dolores, 

Pauperibus false gaudia vera ferunt. 


Pingere difficile est animum, depingere corpus, 

Hoc facile est : in te sunt tamen ambo secus. 
Nam pravos animi mores natura revelans, 

Fecit ut emineant undique perspicui. 
fSed forraae portenta tuaa deformia membra 

Quis pingat ? quando haec cernere nemo velit ? 


Vipera Cappadocem mordens mala, protinus bausto 
Tabifico periit sanguine Cappadocis. 


Effigiem statue re tibi rex perditor orbis 
Ex ferro, ut longe vilius aere forer. 


1 18 T. MOM 

Hoc fecerc fames, csedes, furor, aeris egestas, 
Hacc tua, quis omncs perdit ? avaritia. 


Jam lempus id petit 

Monetquc Candide, 

Vagis amoribus 

Tandem renunciesy 

Tandemque desinas 

Incerla Cypridi3 

Sequi cubilia : 

Quserasque virginem, 

Quam rite jam tibi 

Concorde vincias 

Amore conjugem, 

Qua jam genus tuum 5 

Quo nil beatius, 

Fcecunda dulcibus 

Natis adaugeat. 

Pater tibi tuus 

Hoc ante prastitit. 

Quod a prioribus 

Prius receperis, 

Non absque fcenore 

Repende posteris. 

Non sit tibi tamen 

Ha2c cura maxima, , 

Spectare Candide 

Quid dot is afferat, 

Quam sitve Candida. 

Infirmus est amor, 

Quem stultus impetus 

Decore concitus 

Parit, vcl improbuS 

Ardor pecuniae. 

Quicunque amaverit 

Propter pecuniam, 


Amahir huic nihil 
Praetcr pccuniam : 
Capta pecunia 
Vanescit illico, 
Item fugax amor, 
Fercque jam prius 
Perit quam nascitur. 
At nee pecunia, 
Quam avarus antea 
Miser cupiverat, 
Juvare postea 
Quicquam potest, ubi 
Quam non amaverit 
Invitus : attamen 
Omnino cogitur 
Tenere conjugem. 
Quid forma ? numquid b»C 
Vel febre decidit ? 
Annisve deperit ? 
Ut sole flosculus, 
Turn defluentibus 
Genae coloribus 
Amor, ligaverant 
Quem haec sola vincula, 
Solutus aufugit. 
At verus est amor, 
Quem mente perspicax, 
Ratione consule 
Prudens iniverit : 
Et quem bono omine 
Virtutis inclyta?, 
(Qua? certa permanens 
Non febre decidit, 
Annisve deperit) 
Respectus efficit. 
Primum ergo quam voles 
Amice ducere, 

310 T. MORI 

Quibus parentibus 
Sit orta perspice : 
Ut mater optimis 
Sit culta moribus, 
Cujus tenellula 
Mores puellula 
Insugat, exprimat. 
Turn qua sit indole, 
Quam dulcis, hoc vide; 
Ut ore virginis 
Insit serenitas, 
Ab ore virginis 
Absitque torvitas. 
At rursus ut tamen 
Sit in genis pudor, 
Nee ore virginis 
lnsit procacitas : 
Et sit quieta, nee 
Cingat salacibus 
Viros lacertulis. 
Vultu modesta sit, 
Nee spectet undique 
Vagis ocelluUs. 
Proculque stulta sit 
Parvis labellulis 
Semper loquacitas : 
Proculque rusticuui 
Semper silentiura. 
Sit ilia vel modo 
Instructa Uteris, 
Vel talis ut modo 
Sit apta Uteris. 
Felix, quibus bene 
Priscis ab optimis 
Possit libellulis 
Vitam beantia 
Haurirc dogmata. 

POEMATA. * 511 

Armata, cum quibus 
Nee ilia prosperis 
Supcrba turgeat, 
Nee ilia turbidis : 
Misclla lugeat 
Prostrata casibus. 
Jucunda sic crit 
Semper, ncc unquam crit 
Gravis, molestave 
Vitas comes tuae. 
Quae docta parvulos 
Docebit et tuos 
Cum lacte literas 
Oliin nepotulos. 
Jam te juvaverit 
Viros relinquere, 
Doctaeque conjugis 
Siuu quiescere, 
Dum grata te fovet, 
Manuque mobili : 
Dum plectra personality 
Et voce (qua nee est 
Progne sororcuUe 
Tuae suavior) 
Amcena cantilat, 
Apollo quae velit 
Audire carmina. 
Jam te juvaverit 
Sermone blandulo, 
Docto tamen, dies 
Noctesque ducere. 
Notare verbula 
Mellita maximis 
Non absque gratiis 
Ab ore melleo 
Semper fluentia : 
Quibus coerceat, 

31? T. MORI 

Si quando te levet 

Inane gaudium : 

Quibus levaverit, 

Si quando deprimat 

Te mceror anxius : 

Certabit in quibus 

Summa eloquentia 

Jam cum omnium gravi 

Rerum scientia. 

Talem olim ego putem, 

Et vatis Orpbei 

Fuisse conjugera, 

Nee unquam ab inferis 

Curasset improbo 

Labore fceminam 
Referre rusticam. 
Talemque credimus 
Nasonis incbytam, 
Quae vel patrem queat 
/Equare carmine, 
Fuisse filiam. 
Talemque suspicor 
(Qua nulla carior 
Unquam fuit patri, 
Quo nemo doctior) 
Fuisse Tulliam. 
Talisque, qua? tulit 
Gracchos duos fuit, 
Quae quos tulit, bonis 
Instruxit artibus : 
Nee profuit minus 
Magistra qua in parens* 
Quid prisca ssecula 
Tandem revolvimus ? 
Utcunquc rusticum, 
Unam tamen tenet 
Nostrumque virginem, 


Tenet, scd unicara, 

At sicut unicam, 

Plerisque prasferat : 

Cuique conferat 

Ex his fuisse, quae 

Narrantur omnibus 

Tot retro sseculis, 

Quae nunc et ullimam 

Monet Britanniam 

Perlata pennulis 

Fama volucribus. 
Laus atque gloria 

Orbis puellula 

Totius unica, 
Ac non raotlo sua? 
Cassandra patria?. 
Die ergo Candide, 
Si talis et tibi 
Puella nuberet, 
Quales ego tibi 
Supra recensui : 
Desit licet queas 
Formam requirere, 
Dotisve quod parum 
Lucrere conqueri. 
Hie sermo verus est, 
Quaecunque sit, satis 
Est bella qua? placet, 
Nee quisquam habet magis, 
Quam qui sibi satis 
Quodcunque habet, putat. 
Si nunc me amet niea,, 
Ut nil ego tibi 
Amice mentiar. 
Cuicunque gratiam ' 

Forma? negaverit 
Natura virgini : 
Vol. II. S s 

314 T. MORI 

Certe licet si et 
Carbone nigrior, 
Foret tamen mihi hac 
Virtutis indole 
Olore pulchrior. 
Cuicunque lubrica 
Dotem negaverit 
Fortuna virgini : 
Certe si et licet 
Vel Iro egentior, 
Foret tamen mihi hac 
Virtutis indole 
Te Creese ditior. 


Tbrasonis uxorem bubulcus rusticus 

Absente eo vitiaverat. 
Domum reversus miles ut rem comperit, 

Armatus et ferus insilit. 
Tandem assecutus solum in agris rusticum, 

Heus clamat heus heus furcifer. 
Restat bubulcus, saxaque in sinum legit r 

Ille ense stricto clamitat, 
Tu conjugem mcam attigisti carnifex ? 

Respondit imperterritus, 
Feci. Fateris ? inquit. At ego omncs Deos 

Deasque testor 6 scclus, 
In pectus liunc ensem tibi capulo tenus, 

Ni fassus esses, abderem. 


Agros ego baud porrectiores appcto, 
Non auream aut G vgis beatitudinem, 
Qua sit sntis sibi, vita sat eadem est mihk 
lllud nihil niini?, nimis mihi placet. 



Projicitote meum Danai post fata cadaver. 
Nam mctuunt leporcs occisi membra leonis. 


Scripseral /Eneam nulli pietate secundum, 

Vates secundus nemini. 
Quidam igitur regem dum vult laudare, Maroncm 

Pulchre aemulatus scilicet, 
Hie, hie est, inquit, princcps cui nemo secundus. 

Hac laude rex indignus est, 
Ipse sed est vates dignissimus : ergo age demus 

Utrique laudem debitam. 
Hie, hie est igitur vates, cui nemo secundus, 

Rex qui secundus nemini. 


Hie sacer Andreas cunctos ex ordine fastos 

Perstringit mira cum brevitate liber. 
Ipsos quos cecinit superos, dum scriberet omncs, 

Credibile est vati consuluisse suo. 
Non subito scripsit, sed sic, ut scribere posset 

Quantumvis longo tempore non melius. 
£t pia materia est priscisque intactus ab ipsis, 

Servatus fato est huic operi iste stylus : 
Seque quod ad numeros non anxius obligat omnes, 

Hoc quoque non vitio, sed ratione facit. 
Majestas operis metro esse obnoxia non vult, 

Nempe ibi libertas est, ubi spiritus est. 


m T. MORI 

Jpsa operis piefas intlocto sufficit : at tu 

Castalio quisquis foute bibisse soles, 
Singula si trutines, erit hinc tibi tanta voluptas, 

Quanta libi ex alio nou fuit ante libro. 


Dux Ithacus patria bis denos abfuit annos, 

Quum rediit, celeri cognitus usque cani est. 

Te pugil O Stratophon, certantcm quatuor boras, 
Et cauis et populus dedidiceie simul. 

Quin etiam speculum de te si consults ipse, 
Juratus Stratophon te Stratoplionta neges. 


Nc&imus ecce pugil vatem consultat Olympum, 

An ventura sibi sera senecta foret. 
Fors rude donatus vives, ait ille : minatur 

Ccrtanti gelidus scd tibi fake Deus. 


Stare putes stadio Euticliydes quum curreret, at quum 
Curreret ad ccenam, nempe volare putes. 


Serta, unguenta, rneo ne gratificare sepulchro, 

Vina, focus, lapidi sumptus inanis crit. 
Hffic mihi da vivo ; cineres miscere falerno, 

Nempe lutiim facere est, non dare vina mibi. 


E terra genitus, sub terram morte recondar : 
Ergo lagena mihi tcrrea plena veni. 

POEM ATA; ,17 

Te speculum iallit ; speculum nam Gcllia verum 
Si semel inspiceres, nunquam iterum inspiccrcs. 


Fugcrifc ad Parthos, vel ad Herculis usque columnas, 
Visa semel, positis vestibus, Autipatra. 


Qui miser uxorem dcfoimem duxit, habebit 

Vcsperc, jam accenso lumine, adhuc tenebras. 


Si promissa faeit sapientem barba, quid obstat, 
Barbatus possit quia caper esse Plato ? 


Ultra concessos indulta licentia fines 

Provehitur celeri, non revocanda, gradu. 
Si patiare, pedem calcet tibi vespere conjux, 

Calcabit surgens base tibi mane caput. 


Attrahat hue oculos, aures attraxerat olira 

Nobilis Henricus cantor Abyngdonius. 
Unus erat, nuper mira qui voce sonaret, 

Organa qui scite tangeret, unus erat. 
Vellensis piimo templi decus, inde sacellum 

Rex illo voluit nobilitare suum. 
Nunc ilium regi rapuil Deus, intulit astris, 

Ipsis ut nova sit gloria ccelitibus. 

318 T. MORI 


Hie jacet Henricus, semper pietatis amicus, 
Nomen Abyngdon erat, si quis sua nomiiia quaerat. 
Uvellis hie ecclesia fuerat succentor in alma, 
Regis et in bella cantor fuit ipse capella. 
Millibus in mille cantor fuit optimus ille, 
Prater et haEC ista, fuit optimus orgaquenista. 
Nunc igitur Christe quoniam tibi serviit iste 
Semper in orbe soli, da sibi regna poli. 


Scripsi elegum carmen, Jano me haerede rogante, 

Quod tumulum Henrici signet Abyngdonii. 
Displicet, et doctis bene displicuisset. At illi 

Displicet hoc tantum, si quid inest melius. 
Non resonant isti versus, ait. Illico sensi, 

Quales lactucas talia labra petant. 
Ridendos ergo ridens effutio versus. 

Hos vorat applaudens Janus utraque manu. 
Hos tumulo insculpsif, sub eundem protinus obdi, 

Atque iisdem dignus versibus, ipse legi. 
Ante retroque bifrons Janus Deus omnia vidit, 

Talpa, eflrons videt hie Janus utrinque nihil. 


Saspe mihi jactas facilcs te ad principis aures 

Libere et arbitrio ludcre saspe tuo. 
Sic inter domitos sine noxa saepe leones 

Luditur, ac noxa; non sine saepe metu. 
Infremit incerta crebra indignatio causa, 

Et subito mors est, qui modo Indus erat. 
Tuta tibi non est, ut sic secura voluptas-: 

Magna tibi est, mihi sit, dummodo certa minor. 



Ante meos quam croc lid cram tibi Tyndale nummos, 

Quum libuit, licuit le mihi ssepc frui. 
At nunc si tibi me i'ors angulus offerat ullus, 

Haud sccus ac viso, qui pavet, anguc, fugis. 
Non fuit unquam animus, mihi crede, reposcere nummos : 

Non fuit : at ne te perdere cogar, erit. 
Perdere te salvo nummos volo, perdere utrumque 

Nolo,, sat altcrutrum sit periisse mihi. 
Ergo tibi nummis, aut te mihi redde, retentis : 

Aut tu cum nummis te mihi redde meis. 
Quod tibi si neutrum placeat, nummi mihi saltern 

Fac redeant : at tu non rediture, vale. 


Tu te fers medicum, nos te plus esse fatemur, 
Una tibi plus est litera, quam medico. 


Est fcecunda mei, fcecunda est uxor Arati, 
Nempe suo genuit tor sine foeta viro. 


Ut fugeret misera: Diophantus taedia vitas, 
Usus Arachneo est stamine pro laqueo. 


Conspiceret solam juvenis cum forte puellam, 

Et sibi oportunum crederet esse locum. 
Improbus invitam cupidis amplectitur ulnis, 

Basiaque ct plus quam basia ferre parat. 
Ilia reluctata est, legemque irata minatur, 

Qua miser, efFuso sanguine, raptor obit. 

320 T. MORI 

Institit ille tammi juvenili ardore protervus, 

Nunc precibus satagit, nunc superare raelu. 
Non precibus, non ilia mctu superata reclamut, 

Calce petit, mordet dente, manuque ferit. 
Ira subit juvenem jam pene libidine major, 

Et ferus, O demons siccine pergis ? ait. 
Per tibi ego hunc ensem juro, simul extulit ensera, 

Commoda ni jaceas, ac taceas, abeo. 
Illico succubuit tam tristi territa verbo : 

Atque age, sed quod agis, vi tamen, inquit, agis. 


Chrysalus in sylvis loculos quum conderet, haesit, 
Certa loci possent qua? sibi sigtia capi. 

At super ut summa raucum videt arbore corvum, 
Hie mihi conspicua est, inquit, abitque, nota. 

Capti sola scopi redeuntem copia lusit : 

Nam sua jam in -qua vis arbore signa videt. 


Dum tua quos noster celebrat pro vatibus error, 

Fata cient positu sideris astrologi : 
Haec dum stella favet, dumque luxe tibi stella minatur, 

Pcndula mens inter spemque metumque tua est. 
Prospera seu venient, venient reticentibus illis, 

Assolet et subitum lastius esse boaum. 
Seu venient adversa, diu nescire jtivabit, 

Usura et medii temporis usque frui. 
Quin jubeo fatis etiam probibentibus ipsis, 

Fac tibi mens hilares transigat aequa dies. 


Mastaur*n elcraenta tibi duo subtialie prima, 
Nemo te reliquis dignior esse potest. 


E gr^co: 

Fortis crat bello Timocritus, hie jacet ergo, 

Fortibus baud parcis Mars fere, sed timidis. 


Ista Neoclida; gnatos habet urna gemellos : 
Servitio hie patriam libcrat, hie vitio. 


Uxor amice tibi est semper mala : quum male tracta 

Fit pejor : sed fit pessima, quando bene. 
Sed bona si moriatur erit, melior tamen id si 

Te faciat vivo : ast optima, si propere. 



Cum tumida horrisonis insurgeret unda procellis, 

Et maris in lassam ferveret ira ratem, 
Relligio timidis illabitur anxia nautis, 

Heu parat, exclamant, hoc mala vita malum. 
Vectores inter monachus fuit, hujus in aurem 

Se properant vitiis exonerare suis. 
Ast ubi senserunt nihilo sibi mitius aequor, 

Sed rapido puppim vix superesse freto, 
Quid miri est, ait unus, aqua si vix ratis extat, 

Nostrorum scelerum pondere adhuc premitur. 
Quin raonachum hunc, in quern culpas exhausimus omnes, 

.Ejicitc, et secum bine crimina nostra ferat. 
Dicta probant, rapiuntque virum, simul in mare torquent. 

Et lintrem levius quam prius isse ferunt. 
Hinc, bine quam gravis est peccati sarcina, disce, 

Cujus non potuit pondera ferre ratis. 
Vor,. II. T t 

m T. MORI 


I'actus es 6 populi pastor mi Candide magni : 

Ter tibi, terque tuo gratulor ergo gregi. 
Aut mibi judicium minuit favor, aut tuus usquarn 

Non potuit talem grex habuisse patrem. 
Non tibi vanarum est fastosa scientia rerum, 

Quippe ncc in populum est utilis ilia tuum. 
At rarae tibi sunt virtutes, sic tibi raros 

Patribus ex priscis credo fuisse pares. 
Quid faciant fugiantve tui, quo cernere possint, 

Vita potest claro pro speculo esse tua. 
Tantum opus admonitu est, ut te intueantur, et ut tu 

Quae facis, ba?c fugiant : quae fugis, base faciant. 


Naufragus hac situs est, jacct ilia rusticus urna. 
Ad styga sive solo par via, sive salo. 


Praesul es, et merito prrefectus Postbume sacris, 

Quo magis in toto non erat orbe sacer. 
Gaudeo tara magnum, tarn sanctum gaudeo munus, 

Tandem non tenure nunc, velut ante dari. 
Nempe errarc solet temcrarius impetus : at te 

Delectum magna sedulitate patet. 
Narnque ubi dc multis tantummodo sumitur unus, 

Scepc malus casu, pessimus arte venit. 
At te, de multis lcgitur si millibus unus, 

Stulfior baud possit, deteriorve legi. 


Urticis ledum Bollano urentibus omncm 
Instcrnunt socii, quum cubiturus erat. 


Se tamen urticis ustum negat, haud ncgat illas 

In (cnebris nudum sc reperisse tamen. 
Unguibus aut igilur vitata came nccesse est, 

Aut nudis (antum dentibus incideruit. 
Cum (amen in (cnebris illaesus repperit Jierbas, 

Urticas quanam repperit esse no(a ? 


Dum jacet angusta vulpes ajgrota caverna, 

Ante fores blando constitit ore leo : 
Ecquid arnica vales ? cito me lambente valebis, 

Nescis in lingua vis mibi quanta mea. 
Lingua tibi medica est, vulpes ait : at nocet illud, 

Vicinos quod habet tarn bona lingua malos. 


Dum domitus placido leo Iamberet ore magistrum, 

Provocat exemplo quendibet ipse suo. 
Cumque diu ex tanta prodiret nemo corona, 

ProsUiit forti pectore Lysimacbus. 
Ipse, ait, audebo linguam tetigisse Ieonis, 
v Sed tam vicinis dentibus baud faciam. 


Uno multa die de rebus fata futuris, 

Credula quum de te turba frequenter emat. 

Inter multa unum si fors mendacia verum est, 
Illico vis vatem te Fabiane putem. 

At tu de rebus semper mentire futuris, 

Si potes hoc, vatem te Fabiane putem. 


324 T. MORI 


^cole quid oppugnas Norbamam viribus arcem ? 

Ante tibi falsa proditione datam. 
Artibus ergo malis capta fait arce voluptas 

Magna tibi ibrsan, sed brevis ilia fuit. 
Teque, tuisque mala (merit a sed) morte peremptis, 

Ars intra est pancos capta, recepta dies. 
Proditor inque tuo pctcret cum praerriia regno, 

Mors sccleri est merces reddita digna suo. 
Proditor ut pereat, pereat cui proditur hostis, 

Invicta in fatis arx habet ista suis. 


Scotorum Jacobus princeps, regno hostis amico, 

Fortis et infelix hac ego condor humo. 
Quanta animi fuerat, fidei vis ta'hta fuisset : 

Ca?tera contigerant non inhonesta raihi. 
. Sed pudet beu jactare, queri piget : ergo tacebo, 

Garrulaque O utinam famd, tacere velis. 
Vos tarnen O reges moneo, rex nuper et ipse, 

Ne sit (ut esse solet) nomen inane fides. 


Rxprimit egregia pictor mirabilis arte, 

Dira canis pavitans ut fugit ora lepus. 
Intima naturae scrutatus viscera fingit, 

In cursu leporem retro mclu aspicere. 
Tarn bene qui leporem fugientem expresscrit, opto. 

Sit lepns, et fugiens ipse retro aspiciat. 

MEMATA. 325 


Cum cane sic pictus lepus est, ut dicere nemo 

Esset uterve canis, posset, uterve lepus; 
Pictor ubi hoc didicit, quod inerti defuit arti, 

Supplevit miro callidus ingeuio. 
Res ut aperta foret, Iongeque facesseret error. 

Subscripsit taiitum, est hie cauis, iste lepus. 


Non miuimo insignem naso dum forte puellam 

Basiat, en voluit Tyndarus esse dicax. 
Frustra ait ergo tuis raea profero Iabra labellis. 

Nostra procul nasus distinet ora tuus. 
Protinus erubuit, tacitaque incanduit ira, 

Nempe parum salso tacta puella sale. 
Nasus ab ore raeus tua si tenet oscula, dixit, 

Qua nasus non est, hac dare parte potes. 


Hervea dura celebras Brixi, tua carmina damnas, 

Nam tibi scripta mala est res bene gesta fide, 
ilistoriam spondes ilia Germane poesi, 

Quae modo quum non sit vera, nee historia est. 
Aut odio incipiant, aut indulgcre favori, 

Et quisnam historiis qui modo credat, erit ? 
Jamquc nee ipse tuus per te laudem Herveus ullam 

Sublata rerum possit habere fide. 


Brixius immerita quod sustulit Hervea laude, 

QuoJ merito adversum fraudat honore duccm. 

3m T. MORI 

Quod tie Chordigera mcndacia miUc carina 

Contra quam sese res habuere, canat : 
Non equidem miror, neque pravo falsa favore, 

Quod voluit prudens scribere, credo tamen. 
Sed de Chordigera, vatem qui vera docerct, 

Quivit adhuc reducein nemo referre pedem. 
Ipse tamen (sciret quo certius omnia) dignus, 

Qui media praesens nave fuisset, erat. 


Circumeunt unum dextra, kevaque Britanni 
Ilervea, tela volant brumali grandine plura 
In caput unius Ilervei : qua; fortiter hcros 
Excutiens clypco, contraria in agmina vcrtit. 


Ipse suos Herveus comites hortatur, et instat, 
Atque inter primos audax magno impete in hostes 
Invebitur, fecit bosimisso per tempora telo, 
Tiansigit hulc gladio costus, huic ilia nudat, 
Dccutit his caput impacta per colla bipenni, 
His latus, his humeros hasla pracstrmgit acuta. 


Quod ferit hos Herveus misso per tempora telo, 

Tliaque et costas transigit huic gladio, 
Decutit his caput impacta per colla bipenni, 

His humeros hasta perforat atque latus : 
Turn clypeo adversa quod tela volantia parte 

Fortiter excutiens unde volant, rcgerit. 
Eflugit hoc sensum, tot telis jjuguet ut unus, 

Isque cui clypeo est altera ouusta manus. 
Fortis huic pugnac rcrum nalura repugnat, 

Prajteritum quiddam est hac puto parte (ibi. 


Namque ubi magnanimum produxeris Hcrvca, telis 

Pugnantem pariter quattuor, ct clypeo, 
Forte tibi exciderat : sed debuit ante moneri 

Lector, tunc Herveo quinquc fuisse manus. 


Miraris clypeum, gladium, hastam, tela, bipennem, 

Herveus quoque gerat belligeretque modo. 
Dextera crudeli manus est armata bipenni, 

Instructa est gladio saeva sinistra suo. 
Jam telum, telique vicem qua; prabeat, hastam 

Fortiter (impressis dentibus) ore tenet. 
At quia tela caput brumali grand ine plura 

Involitant, clypeum collocat in capite. 
Duritia capitis draco cesserit, ungue Celaeno, 

Sic elepaas illi dentibus impar erat. 
Ergo novum adversos monstrum procurrit in bostes, 

Terribilis rictu, terribilisquc manu. 


Inter Phcebeos non aspernandus alumnos, 

Hervei magna canit Brixius acta ducis. 
Inter Phcebeos non aspernandus alumnoS, 

Herveum, hostes, socios, concremat atque rates. 
Inter Phcebeos non aspernandus alumnos : 

Unde igitur vates, qiue cecinit, didicit ? 
Inter Phcebeos non aspernandus alumnos, 

Pbcebeo reliquum est audiat ex tripodc. 


Priscos poetas nemo te colit magis, 

Legitve diligentius. 
Nam nemo priscis e poetis omnibus 

Est, cujus ipse ex versibus, 

328 T. MORI 

Noji hinc et inde flosculos et gemmulas 

Manu capaci legeris, 
Vatem redonans tanto bonore protinus, 

Scriptis tuis ut inseras. 
Beasque vatem : nempe quas tu congeris, 

Suos parentes indicant, 
Magisque resplendent tua inter carmina, 

Quam nocte lucent sidera. 
Tantum decus vati invidere nemini 

Soles, amicus omnium, 
Ne quis, decus prioris olim seculi, 

Neglectus abs te defleat. 
Ergo sacrati ne poetarum modi 

Longo situ obsolescerent. 
Injuria tu vindicatos temporis 

Novo nitore percolis. 
Hoc est vetustis arte novitatem dare, 

Qua re nihil felicius. . 
Ars O beata, quisquis arte isthac tainen 

Vetusta novitati dabit, 
Is arte nulla (quamlibet sudet diu) 
Novis vetustatem dabit. 


Hervea cum Dcciis unum coiiferre iluobus, 

/Etas te Brixi judice nostra potest. 
Sed tamen hoc distant, illi quod sponte pcribant, 

Ilic periit, quoniam non potuit fugere. 


Vis de grandisono quid sentio scire libello, 

Qui arma, necemque llervci bellipotentis habct.' 

Ergo sacer Pbcebo sacra ha^c oracula vatcs 
Accipe, Pbccbaeo reddita de (riuodc. 


Una operc in toto dccst syllaba, mille supersunt. 

Plenum opus est : nam quid posset abesse minus ? 
Una uno ktec legitur, sed boo Iegitur tibi mense, 
Mens. Et plus quam medium syllaba mensis habet. 


Brixi tale (uo natum est (enigma libello, 

A Sphinge opponi possit ut Oedipodi. 
Cbordigera est tibi tota frequens, tibi non tamen usquam est 
Cor. Cordigerrc in toto syllaba prima libro. 


Subsidium vita?, sera* spes una senecta?, 

Nata tibi est soboles, curre Sabine domum. 
Curre, salutanda est uxor fcecunda, videnda est 

Cbara tibi soboles, curre Sabine domum. 
Curre, inquam, ac propera, nimiumque videbere lentus, 

Quantumvis properes, curre Sabine domum. 
Jam queritur conjux de te tua, jam tua de te 

Conqueritur soboles, curre Sabine domum. 
Nunquam ingratus ades, neque cum soboles tibi nata est, 

Sed neque cum genita est, curre Sabine domum. 
Curre ut adesse, puer sacro dum fonte lavatur, 

Nunc saltern possis, curre Sabine domum. 



Saepe bonos laudas, imitaris Candide nunquam : 

Laudo, inquis, posita Candidus invidia. 
Nam quicunque bonos imitatur, et ajmulus idem est. 

O lacte, 6 nivibus Candide candidior. 
Vol. II. Uu 

550 T. MORI 


Qu<cvis uter melius, rexne imperet, anne senatus 

Neuter (quod sajpe est) si sit uterque malus. 
Sin sit uterque bonus, numero praestare senatum, 

Inque bonis multis plus reor esse boui. 
Difficile est numcrum forsan reperire bonorum, 

Sic facile est unum saspius esse malum. 
Et fucrit medius sacpe inter utrumque senatus : 

Sed tibi vix unquam rex mediocris erit. 
Consilioque malus regitur meliore senator, 

Rex consultores sed regit ipse suos. 
Alter ut cligitur populo, sic nascitur alter : 

Sors hie caxa regit, certum ibi consilium. 
Illeque se factum populo, populum sibi factum, 

Scilicet hie ut sint quos regat ipse putat. 
Rex est in prirao semper blandissimus anno, 

Omni anno consul rex erit ergo novus. 
Rex cupidus longo populum corroseiit xvo, 

Si consul malus est, spes mclioris adest. 
Nee me nota movet, quae pastam fabula muscam 

Ferre jubet, subeat nc male pransa locum. 
Fallitur, expleri regem qui credit avarum, 

Nunquam Iisec non vacuam mittet hirudo cutem. 
At patrum consulta gravis dissensio turbat, 

Regi dissentit nemo : malum hoc gravius. 
Nam quum de magnis varia est sententia rebus, 

Quaestio sed tamen ha?c nascitur unde tibi ? 
Estne usquam populus, cui regem sive senatum 

Pra^ficere arbitrio tu potes ipse tuo ? 
Si potes hoc, regnas : nee jam cui, consule, tradas 
Imperium : prior est quaestio, an cxpediat. 


Potando medicus perituros dixit ocellos 
Fusco, qlii cum se consuluissct, ait : 


Perdere dulcius est potando, quam ut mea scrvcm 
Erodenda pigris lumina vermiculis. 


Littera nostra, luis quantum milii colligo scriptis. 

Sera tibi veniet, ncc tibi sera tameu. 
Nee bello veniunt intempestiva pcracto, 

Qua; bello poterant tela juvare nihil. 


Rusticus in sylvis nutritus venit in urbem, 

Rusticior Fauno, rusticior Satyro. 
En populus plena stetit hiuc, stetit inde platea, 

Unaque vox tota, rex venit, urbe fuit. 
Rusticus insolita vocis novitate movetur, 

Quidnam ita respectet turba, videre cupif. 
Rex subito invehitur, celebri praeeunte caterva, 

Aureus excelso conspiciendus equo. 
Turn veio ingeminant, vivat rex : undique regem 

Attonito populus suspicit ore suum. 
Rusticus, 6 ubi rex ? ubi rex est ? clamat : at unus, 

Hie, ait, est illo qui sedet altus equo. 
Hiccine rex ? puto me derides, rusticus inquit, 

Hie mihi picta veste videtur homo. 


Magne pater clamas, occidit littera, in ore 

Hoc unum, occidit littera, semper habes. 
Cavisti bene tu, ne te ulla occidere possit 

Littera, non ulla est littera nota tibi. 
Nee frustra metuis ne occidat littera, scis non 

Vivificet qui te spiritus esse tibi. 


332 T. MORI 


Admonuit populum noster cum forte sacerdos, 

Proxima quos fastos aflerat hebdomada : 
Martyris Andreas magnum et memorabile festum est, 

Scitis, ait, cams quam fuit ille Deo. 
Squalida lascivam tenuent jejuniacarnem, 

Hoc suetuiu est, sancti hoc instituere patres. 
Praamoneo ergo omneis, in martjris hujus honorem, 

Quod jejunari debuit, inquit, beri. 


Tain male cantasti, possis ut episcopus esse, 

Tam bene legisti, ut non tamen esse queas. 
Non satis esse putet, si quis vitabit utrumvis, 

Sed fieri si vis prsesul, utrumque cave. 


Quos ante conjux quattuor 
Natos Sabine protulit, 
Multum ccce dissimiles tibi, 
Tuos nee ipse deputas. 
Sed qucm tibi puellulum 
Enixa jam nuperrime est, 
Solum tibi simillimum 
Pro quattuor complected*. 
Adulterinos quattuor 
Vocas, repellis, abdicas. 
Hunc uuicum ecu y»»V«>i>, 
Qui sit tibi hares, destinas. 
Hunc ergo in ulnis gestiens, 
Exosculandum ab omnibus, 
Ut filium fert simia, 
Totani per urbern bajulas. 
Atqui graves tradunt Sophi, 


Quibus labor studiumquc, id est, 
Secreta quicquid efficit 
Natura perscrutarier. 
Ergo graves tradimt Sopbi, 
Quodcunque malres interim 
Imaginantur fortiter, 
Dum liberis datur opera, 
Ejus latentcr et notas, 
Certas et indelebiles, 
Modoque inexplicabili 
In semen ipsum congeri : 
Quibus receptis intime, 
Simulque concrescentibus, 
A mente matris insitam 
Natus refert iraaginem. 
Quum tot abesses millibus. 
Dura gignit uxor quattuor, 
Qu6d esset admodum tui 
Secura, dissimiles parit. 
Sed unus omnium bic puer 
Tui refert imaginem, 
Qudd mater, hunc dum concipit, 
Soliicita de te plurimum, 
Te tota cogitaverat, 
Dura pertimescit anxia, 
Ne tu Sabine incommodus 
Velutque lupus in fabulam 
Supervenires interim. 


Quum spectaret aquas princeps, in ponte resedit, 

Primoresque suos ante stetere pedes, 
Rusticus adsedit, modico taraen intervallo, 

Civilemque dato se putat esse loco. 
Suscitat bunc quidam, et cum principe, dixit, eodem 

Ponte sedere audes rustice ? nonne pudet ? 

331 T. MORI 

Illc refert, scclus est in codcm ponte sederc? 
Quid si pons longus millia dena foret ? 


Quum dcscendit cquo, de circumstantibus uni 

Aulicus hunc teneas quisquis cs, inquit, equum. 

Illc, ut erat pavidus, dixit : Domine ergo ferocem 
Hunc rogo qui teneat, sufficit unus, equum ? 

Unus ait potis est retinere, subintulit ille : 
•Si potis est unus, tu potes ipse tuum. 


A ureus iste manus miles cur annulus ornat, 

Jure tuos ornet^qui meliore pedes ? 
Utilior nuper, meliorque in Marte feroci 

Planta tibi palmis una duabus erat. 


Perdis ait Tusco medicus tua lumina vino, 

Consultat secum quid velit ergo sequi. 
Sidera, terra fretumque solent quaxunque videri, 

Omnia sunt, inquit, visa revisa mihi. 
Multa mibi, sed vina tamen gustanda supersunt, 

Multa refert annus, quum nova musta novus. 
Jam certus firmusque valebitis, inquit, ocelli, 

Nempe satis vidi, non satis usque bibi. 


Jurasti satis Arne diu, tandem obtinuisti, 
Jurare ut postbac jam tibi non sit opus. 

Ccepit ubique tuo vir juratissime verbo, 
Quam juramento non minor esse fides. 



Et semper juras, ct cunctis Ame minaris, 
Vis scire utilitas quae venit inde tibi ? 

Sic juras, ut nemo tibi jam deniquc credat : 
Sic minitaris, ut has nemo rainas metuat. 


Arao nemo magis pedibus valet usque, sed olim 
Frigore contractas perdidit ille manus. 

Optat bella tamen cui pes citus, utraque manca est 
Cui manus in bello, scis puto, quid faciet. 

At cui lingua procax, manus est ignava, procax est 
Huic nou ignava lingua secanda manu. 


Admonuit medicus lippum Theodore Marullum, 

Ne vinum, caucus ni velit esse, bibat. 
Pareat ut medico (quanquam a:gie) abstemius esse 

Ecce duos totos sustinet usque dies. 
Post sitit assueti revocatus imagine vini, 

Jamque foras medico vera minante ruit. 
Ventum erat ad vinum, quum sic sua iumina moestus 

Affatur, posito jam peritura mero. 
Hue iter est, hue me fidi duxistis oceili, 

Nunc bibite, et dulces ambo valete duces. 
Gustus odorque manent, miratur abire colorem. 

In nigras abeunt Iumina dum tenebras. 
Hoc tamen adversum lenit solamine casum, 

Dote meri minima quod cariturus erat. 


Riscus eques prudens, longoque peritus ab usu, 
Dissimiles, causa non sine, pascit equos. 

336 T. iMORI 

Namque alit ille duos, volucrem praeverterit alter, 

Alter seel pigro pigrior est asino. 
Hie ergo noa festinantem ad pralia defert, 

Ille prius tuba quam clanxerit, inde refert. 


Mentitur qui te dicit mea Gellia fuscam : 
Judice me non es Gellia fusca, nigra es. 


Candida sum, dicis, fateor, sed Candida quum sis, 
Cur tibi candorem hunc obtegit atra cutis ? 


Non miror sudare tuae te pondere vestis, 

Quattuor haec terra? jugera vestis habet. 
Quantum viventi tibi terrae ingesseris usquam, 

Tarn magnum tumulum, nee tumulatus habet. 


En patrios nuper Garemanus vendidit agros. 

Nunc subito fama vivere fertur inops. 
Non illi ingenium, non illi industria defit : 

Verum inimica viro fata nocere puto. 
Nam putres fulvo glebas mutaverat auro 

Callidus, et nunquam rem tamen ille facit. 


Interiere duae, conjux tibi tertia nupsit, 

Nee tibi fida tamen dc tribus ulla fuit. 
Non tantum ergo tuas, sed damnas improbe totum 

Fcemineum irata mente Sabine genus. 
Si tamen banc aequa rem vis cxpendcre lance, 

Fics erga ipsas mitior ipse tuas. 


Nam tie's quum fuerint i'lsdem tibi moribus omne9, 

Astra liffic nascenti fata dc-dcrc tibi. 
Si genesis tua te semper jubet esse cuculum, 

Scilicet expectas uxor ut astra regat ? 
Casta futura alii fnerat : quod adullera tecum est, 

Hoc mcrito fatis imputat ilia tuis. 


iEquoris insanas evasit naufragus uudas, 

Tristius Afra salo praebet arena solum. 
Dum jacet ecce gravi pressus propc littora somno 

Nudus, et infesto fessus ab usque freto : 
Viper.! trux perirail : frustra fugis <equora frustra, 

Heu miser in terris debita fata tibi. 


Unxit anus a?gros velans chirurgus ocellos, 

Utile persuadens hoc fore quinque dies. 
Interea mappas, pelves, mortaria, discos, 

Quicquid onus tutum non facit, inde rapit. 
Quum sanata oculos cireumtulit ilia revinctos, 

Instrumenta sua? sentit abesse domus. 
Mercedem ergo exacta, tua contingeret, inquit, 

Uberior pactum est ut mini visus ope. 
At video nunc quam ante minus quorum usus in aede est : 

Vidi raulta prius, nunc video inde nihiL 


Quam tibi mens levis est, tibi si pes tam levis esset, 
In medio leporem posses praevertere campo. 


Coram Herode Herodiadis dum filia saltat, 
Dura quo debuerat displicuisse placet, 
Vol. II. X x 

2S8 T. MORI 

Ebrius affectu rex conjugis, ebrius illo 

Fortunae luxu, praetereaque mero : 
Opta ait 6 virgo, dabitur, juravimus, hujus 

Dimidium regni poscere si libeat, 
Impia suggestu sceleratae filia matris, 

lnquit : Baptistae da precor ergo caput. 
Dona petis virgo (si saltatricula virgo est) 

Quae vix sustineas cernere dona petis. 
O funesta parens, 6 natae dira noverca, 

Saitare, atque homines quam jugulare doces. 
Rex dolet, et tristis concedit, nenipe coactus 

Jurisjurandi relligione sui. 
O regem fidum, sed tunc tantummodo fidum, 

Majus perfidia est quum scelus, ipsa fides. 


Tecum in colloquium quod non properantius ivi, 

Segniciem incusas, conquererisque mean: . 
Confiteor verb, tibi non in tempore veni, 

Serior aut citior debuit bora legi. 
Aut utinam ejusdem venissem mane diei, 

Aut tibi venissem mane sequente die. 
Nunc res luce nimis traclari ccepit adulta, 

Quando tua factum est ebrietate nihil. 


Sanguine runesta est Herodis mensa virili, 
Sanguine funesta est mensaque Flaminii. 

Tam similes caedes similes fecere puella?, 
Ulam s.iltatrix obtinet, banc merctrix. 

Id tarncn iutererat, mcretrici vita noccntis, 
At saltatrici penditur innocui. 



Ora viri foedo saucti lluitantia tabo, 

Decussumque gerit regia mensa caput. 
Corpora sic regi rex Atreus ambo Thjesti 

Natorum apposuit frater edenda patri. 
Sic rcgi Odrysio natum rcgina peremptum 

Fida soror, genilrix pcrfida ponit Itym. 
Talia regales ornant bellaria mensas : 

Ciede mihi, non est pauperis isle cibus. 


Si tubs ad solem statuatur nasus, hiante 

Ore, bene osteudas dentibus, hora quota est. 


Cur ernitur fucus, coma, dens, rael, ceraque : posset 
Quum persona tibi tota rainoris emi ? 


Caetera ad historiam, quiddam tamen, id quoque magnum, 

Jam tibi saltatum contra erat historiam. 
Dum Nioben ageres, stabas tanquam lapis esses : 

Quum fieres Canapeus, ecce repente cadis. 
At Canacem gladio referens, quum vivus abisti, 

Hoc tibi saltatum contra erat historiam. 


Saltavit Nioben, saltavit Daphnida Memphis : 
Ligneus ut Daphnen, saseus ut ISioben. 




Vespere quum bibimus, homines sumus atque benigni : 
Mane homini siccus trux fera surgit homo. 


Gratus es Andrea, dignusque cui bene fiat, 
Nam pisces toties qui te pavere, repascis. 


iEquoris edisti pisces, irascitur aequor : 
Eque tuo foetus exigit ore suos. 


Ergo puella viri quis te negat esse capacem, 

Quum tua tam magnum circumdant crura caballum ? 


Vatibus idem animusque, et vere spiritus idem, 

Qui fuit antiquis, est modo Galle tibi. 
Carmina namque eadem, versusque frequenter eosdem, 

Quos fecere illi, iu quoque Galle facis. 


Scurra ubi jarr> "ures totam sibi nocte vuleret 
Scrutantes magna sedulitate domum : 

Risit, et 6 media quid vos Lie nocte videtis .' 
Miror, ait, media nil ego cerno die. 


Semper habet miseras immensa potentia curas, 
Anxiu perpetuis sollicitudinibus. 


Non prodit multis nisi circumseptus ab arrais, 

Nou nisi gustato vescitur ante cibo. 
Tutamcnta quidem sunt luec : tamen ha3c male (utum 

Ilium, aliter tutus qui ncquit esse, doccnt. 
Nempe satellitium metuendos admonet enses : 

Toxica pnegustans esse timenda docet. 
Ergo tuuore locus quisnam vacat hie ? ubi gignunt, 

Ha?c eadem pellunt, qua? metuenda, metum. 



Flore novercalem cingis privigne columnam, 

Morte ratus mores interiissc malos. 
Te tamen ilia premit subito inclinata : novercoe, 

Si privigne sapis, ipsa sepulchra, fuge. . 


Hos quid te scripsisse mones ex tempore versus ? 
Nam liber hoc loquitur, te reticente, tuus. 


Privigno vel amans infortunata noverca est : 

Hippolyto gravis hoc Phasdra docere potest. 



Hoc habet Hispani festivum epigramma poetas, 

Victurus genium debet habere liber. 
Dum legis hunc versum, jam tu quoque scribere versus 

Tota mente paras, sed sine mente tamen. 
Qua:ve canas, qu -live modo contemnis : ea est spes, 

Victura hax genio qualiacunque suo. 
Namque tuis genium vir tarn geniose Camcenis, 

Non dubitas aliquem mox alicunde fore. 

S4i! T. MORI 

Tu tamen (et cariturus erit) tuus hie liber, opt* 

Ut careat genio, qui caret iogenio. 
Cui genius vitam prod neat si quis, erit quis 

Ex geniis, adsunt qui tibi mille, malis. 
>ed neque sic vivet, vati si credis eidem, 

Nam non vivere, sed vita, valere bene, e* 
Quod si vita libri est jugi languescere probro, 

Detur et sterna vivere morte tibi. 


Regibus <■ midtis regnum cui sufficit unura, 

Vix rex unus erit, si tamen unus erit. 
Regibus e mullis regnum bene qui regat unum, 

Vix tamen unus erit, si tamen unus erit. 


Belliger invictam domuit te Nervia Caesar, 

Won tamen extremis absque utriusque malis. 

Te capit Henricus, capit et sine sanguine, princeps 
Magno tarn major Casare quam melior. 

Sensit honorificum sibi rex cepisse tibique, 
Utile sensisti non minus ipsa capi. 


Fabulla nuper nescio quid Attalo 

Irata, et ilium commovere gestiens, 

Ostendereque quam prorsus bunc nihili putet, 

Juravit illi, si sibi centum forent 

Membra mulier quibus fit, e centum tamen 

Praestare dignaretur baud unum Attalo. 

Non inquit ille ? qua;, malum, est isthaec nova 

Frugalitas tibi ? quaive parsimonia ? 

Certe solebas esse liberalior. 

Unum ne de centum graYaicris modo 


Avara cornmodarc ? at aliquando unicum 
Tantum quum habercs, unicum tamcn viris 
Centum solebas dare benigna centies. 
Heu metuo ne quid ista portendat tibi 
Monstrosa tandem parcitas, magni mali. 


Fcbre laborarct mihi quum pucr hemitritaeo, 

Forte ibi Sauromatac posco medentis opera. 
Sensit ut admoto salientem pollice venam, 

Fortis, ait, calor est, sed calor ille cadet. 
Flagitat ergo cyphum, fundumque exliaurit ad imum, 

Quantum nee Bitias ebibiturus erat. 
Haurit, ad asquales aigrotum provocat haustus, 

Et facere hoc temere ne videatur, ait : 
YEstuat hie valde, valde bibat ergo necesse est, 

Non parvo obruitur magna Iiquore pyra. 


Ex more sacro dum sacerdoti Hesperus 

Commissa fassus expiaret crimina, 

Explorat hujus ille conscientiam, 

Et cautus omne examiuat scelerum genus : 

Interque multa quasrit, an unquam malos 

Ritu prophano crediderat in daemonas. 

Vah ego ne credam in daemones, inquit, pater, 

Multo labore vix adhuc credo in Deum. 


Unde erat hie plastes ? Sicyonius. At quis erat ? die. 

Lysippus. Tu quis ? tempus ego omnc domans. 
Cur summis instas digitis ? roto semper. Ai alas 

Cur pedibus gestas ? ut levis aura feror. 

344 T. MOIir 

At dcxfram cur armat acuta novacula ? signum est, 

Quod conferri acies non potis ulla milii est. 
Cur coma fronte jacet ? quod qui me prendere capiat, 

Praeveniat. Calvum est cur tibi retro caput? 
Quod postquam levibus praeceps effugero pennis, 

Nd aget a tergo qui revocare volet. 
Unde igitur posses documentum suniere, talera 

Artificis posuit me tibi docta manus. 


Tarn Phyllis cupido bene nubet Candida Prisco, 

Quam bene spumanti vitrea lympba raero. 
Phyllida Priscus amat calido ferventius igne, 

Frigidius gelida Priscus amatur aqua. 
Jungetur tuto, nam si simul arueat ilia., 

Sustineat flammas quae domus una duas ? 



Roma suis olim ducibus quam debuit, ill! 

Tarn debent omnes Buslidiane tibi. 
Roma suis ducibus servata est : ipse reservas 

Romanos Roma praemoriente duces. 
Nam qua? caesareos antiqua numismata vultus, 

Aut referunt claros tumve priusve viros ; 
Haec tu sasclorum studio quaesita priorum 

Congeris, et solas bas tibi ducis opes. 
Cumque triumpbales densus cinis occulat arcus ? 

Ipse triumpbantum nomen et ora tenes. 
Ncc jam Pyramides procerum monumenta suorum 

Tam sunt, quam pyxis Buslidiane tua. 


Ecquid adhuc placidam mi Buslidiane Camoenam 
Tua coerces capsula ? 


Tn tcnebras abdis cur dignam luce, quid illi ? 

Quid invides mortalibus ? 
Musa? fama tuae toto debctur ab orbe, 

Quid liuic repellis gloriam ? 
G rat us ab hac fructus toti debctur ct orbi, 

Quid uuus obstas omnibus ? 
An tibi casta procul coetu cohibenda virili 

Cohors videtur virginum ? 
Sunt hrcc virginibus fateor metuenda, sed illis 

Devirginari quae queunt. 
jEde tuam intrepid us, pudor est inflexilis illi, 

Nee ille rudis, vcl rusticus. 
Ut tua non ipsi cessura est virgo Diana;, 

Pudore grata lacteo : 
Sic tua non ipsi cessura est Virgo Minerva;, 

Sensu, lepore, gratia. 


Culta modo tixis dum contemplabor ocelli's 

Ornamenta tua;, Buslidiane, domus ; 
Obstupui, quonam exoratis carmine fatis 

Tot rursus veteres nactus cs artifices ? 
Nam reor illustres vafris ambagibus aides, 

Non nisi Daedaleas aidificasse manus. 
Quod pictum est illic, pinxisse videtur Apelles : 

Quod sculptum, credas esse Myronis opus. 
Plastica quum video, Lysippi suspicor artem : 

Quum statuas, doctum cogito Praxitelem. 
Disticha quodque notant opus, at quae disticha vellet, 

Si non composuit, composuisse Maro. 
Organa tarn varias modulis imitantia voces, 

Sola tamen veteres vel potuisse negem. 
Ergo domus tota est vel saicli nobile prisci, 

Aut quod prisca novum saDcula vincat, opus. 
ror,.H. Yy 

346 T. MORI 

At domus base nova nunc, tarde seroque seuescat, 

Tunc videat domiuum, nee tamen usque, seneui. 


En redeunt nostro Veneris miracula saeclo, 

Qualia nee prisco tempore facta reor ; 
Flos juvenes inter Philomenus, et Agna puellas, 

Junguntur Paphiae rite favore Dene. 
Ille sed lieu nimium laudata voce superbit, 

Ilia tumet placidi laudibus ingenii. 
Ergo conjugium votis tarn saepe petitum, 

Non Veneri acceptum, sed retulere sibi. 
Ingratis adimit forniam Dea, neve coirent 

Mutati, dispar indit ulrique genus. 
Mox Philomenus avem quavis a?state canentem 

In cuculum : inque avidam vertitur Agna lupam. 


Sectile ne tetros porrum tibi spiret odores, 

Protinus a porro fac mihi cepe vores. 
Denuo tcetorem si vis depellere cepae, 

Hoc facile efficient allia mansa tibi. 
Spiritus at si post etiam gravis allia restat, 

Aut nihil, aut tantum tollcrc merda potest. 



Sanctum opus, et docti labor immortalis Erasmi 

Prodit, et 6 populis commoda quanta vehit ! 
Lex nova nam veteri primum est interprete Uesu, 

Scribentum varia post vitiata manu. 
Sustulerat forsaq mendas Uieronymus olim, 

Sed periere pigro turn bona scripta situ 


Tola igitur demptis versa est jam denu6 mendis, 

Atque nova Cliristi lex nova luce nitct. 
Nee tameri ambit iosc singula verba notavit, 

Sanctum habuit quiequid vel mediocre fuit. 
Quo fit ut baec celeri si quis pratcrvolet ala, 

Huic nihil liic mngni lbrte putetur agi. 
Idem si presso relegat vestigia gressu, 

Censcbit in;tjus commodiusve nihil. 


Unice doctorum pater ac patrone virorum, 

Pieridum pendet cujus ab ore chorus, 
Cul populus quantum defert et cedit bonore, 

Virtutes infra est tantum honor ipse tuas. 
Ab liber iste tuo longe tibi venit Erasmo, 

Hunc precor hoc auimo quo dedit ipse, cape. 
Nee dubifo, capies : operi nam jure favorem 

Autor, et autori conciliabit opus. 
I lie tui cultor semper fuit, est opus ipsum 

Lex Christi, studiura qua? fuit usque tuum. 
Ilia paratur ab hac prudens tibi lege facultas, 

Qua Momo coram reddere jura potes. 
Namque ita perplexas populo mirante querelas 

Discutis, ut victus non queat ipse queri. 
Non humana tibi facit hoc sollertia, sed lex 

Christi, judiciis unica norma tuis. 
Ergo opus hoc placido prassul dignissime vultu 

Excipe, et autori, quod facis, usque fave. 


Quod bene sunt collata tuo pie praesul Erasmo 
Tauta tua toties munera prompta manu, 

Y v2 

3i8 T. MORI 

Quam non ducat iners quae tu facis otia, monstrant 

Multa, sed in primis indicat illud opus. 
Ediderit quamvis numerosa volumina, fructu 

Non sine, vincit opus cuncta priora novum. 
Cunctorum utililas, sed honor te est inter et ilium : 

Praestitit ille operam, tu bone praesul opem. 
At partem ille suam toto tibi pectore cedit, 

Quicquid agit, meritis imputat omne tuis. 
Ilunc petit ille sui fructum pater alme laboris, 

Charus ut hoc tu sis omnibus, ille tibi. 


Cliara Thomae jacet hoc Johanna uxorcula Mori, 

Qui tumulum Aliciae hunc destino, quiquc mihi. 
Una mihi dedit hoc conjuncta vircntibus annis, 

Me vocet ut puer et trina puella patrem. 
Altera privignis (quae gloria rara novercae est) 

Tam pia, quam gnatis vix fuit ulla suis. 
Altera sic mecum vixit, sic altera vivit, 

Charior incertum est, hsec sit, an haec fuerit. 
O simul, 6 juncti poteramus vivere nos (res 

Quam bene, si fatum relligioque sinant. 
At societ tumulus, societ nos obsecro caelum. 

Sic mors, non potuit quod dare vita, dabit. 



Quid juvat insanas maris evasisse proccllas ? 

Laetitia est, ut non sit tibi vana, brevis. 
Talis febre quies aegris intermicat, ilia 

Dum per accrba statas itque reditque vices. 
Quam te plura nianent optata tristia terra, 

In rnpido fuerant quam subeunda Ireto ? 


Aut feiruui, aut varii precedent funcra morbi, 

Quorum uno est quovis mors minus ipsa gravis. 

Quia eadem tumidas frustra vitata per undas, 
Te premet in plum is insidiosa tamen. 


Quemlibet inflat ais vel teste scienlia Paulo, 

Hanc i'ugis : unde igitur tu pater ample tumes ? 

Vix gestas crasso turgentem abdomine ventrem, 
Inflaturque levi mens tibi stultitia. 


Cur adeo invisum est pigri tibi nomen aselli ? 

Olim erat lioc magnus Clielone philosophus. 
Ne tamen ipse nihil differre puteris ab illo, 

Aureus ille fuit, plumbeus ipse magis. 
Illi mens hominis asinino in corpore mansit : 

At tibi in liumano est corpore mens asini. 


Muscipula exemptum feli dum porrigo murem, 

Haud avido pradam protinus ore vorat. 
Sed trepidum in media captivum ixponere terra 

Sustinet, et miris ludere la:ta modis. 
Adnutat cauda, tremulis inspectat ocellis, 

Et lasciva caput jactat in oranc latus. 
Molliter attonitum pede suscitat ire parantem, 

Corripit, inque vicem datque negatque viam. 
Mox pede sublimem jaculatur, et excipit ore, 

Delnde abit, et falsas spem facit usque fugas. 
Excubat, et saltu fugientem laeta reprendit 

Protinus, inque locum quo fuga coepta redit. 
Digrediturque iterum, mirandoque improba sensu 

Qua misero mens est experimenta capit. 

350 T. MORI 

Hoc dum sa?pe facit, sccuraque longius exit, 

Mus rimam subito repperit et subiit. 
Ilia cito rcvocata gradu frustra obsidet antrum, 

Hie latebra tectus tutus ab lioste fuit. 
Muscipula occiderat, nisi quod tutela salusque 

Feles, interitus quae solet esse, fuit. 


Vivis adhuc, primis 6 me mibi cbarior annis, 

Redderis atque oculis Elisabetba meis. 
Qua? mala distinuit mibi te fortuna tot annos, 

Pene puer vidi pene reviso senex. 
Annos vita quater mibi quattuor egerat, inde 

Aut duo deiuerant, aut duo pene tibi. 
Quum tuus innocuo rapuit me vultus araore, 

Vultus, qui quo nunc fugit ab ore tuo ! 
Cum quondam dilecta mibi succurrit imago, 

Hei facies quam nil illius ista refert. 
Tempova quae, tenerae nunquam non invida formae, 

Te rapuere tibi, non rapuere mibi. 
Me decor nostros toties remoratus ocellos, 

Nunc tenet a vultu pectora nostra tuo. 
Languidus admoto solct ignis crescere flatu, 

Frigidus obruerat quem suus ante cinis. 
Tuque facis quamvis longe diversa priori, 

Ut micet admonitu flamma vetusta novo. 
Jam subit ilia dies qure ludentem obtulit olim 

Inter virgineos te mibi prima clioros. 
Lactea cum flavi decuerunt colla capilli, 

Cum gena par nivibus visa, labella rosis. 
Cum tua perslringunt oculos dub sidera nostros, 

Perque ocidos intrant in mea corda meos. 
Cum velut atta'cta stupefaclus i'ulminis hafisl 

Pendulus a vultu tempora longa tuo. 


Cum sociis risum exhibuit nostrisque tuisque 

Tarn rudis et simplex et male tectus amor. 
Sic tua me cepit species : seu maxima vere, 

Seu major visa est quam fuit, esse mihi : 
Seu fuit in causa prima? lanugo juventae, 

Cumque nova suetus pubc venire calor : 
Sidcra seu quaedam nostro communia natu 

Viribus afliarant utraque corda suis. 
Namque tui consors arcani conscia pectus 
Garrula prodidcrat concaluisse tuum. 
Hinc datus est custos, ipsisque potentior astris 
Janua, quos vellent ilia coire vetat. 
. Ergo ita disjunctos diversaque fata secutos, 
Tot nunc post hyemes reddidit ista dies. 
Ista dies qua rara meo mihi laetior aevo, 
Contigit occursu sospitis alma tui. 
Tu praedata meos olim sine crimine sensus, 

Nunc quoquc non ullo crimine chara manes. 
Castus amor fuerat, ne nunc incestior esset, 

Si minus hoc probitas, ipsa dies facerct. 
At superos, qui lustra boni post quinque valentem 

Te retulere mibi, me retulere tibi, 
Oomprecor, ut lustris iterum post quinque peractis 
Incolumis rursus contuar incolumem. 


Quattuor una meos invisat epistola natos, 

Servet et incolumes a patre missa salus. 
Dum peragratur iter, pluvioque madescimus imbre, 

Dumque luto implicitus saepius liaeret equus : 
Hoc tamen interea vobis excogito carmen, 

Quod gratum, quanquam sit rude, spero fore. 
Collegisse animi licet bine documenta paterni. 

Quanto plus oculis yos amet ipse suis : 

35§ T. MORI 

Quern non putre solum, quem non male turbidus aer, 

Exigu usque altas trans equus actus aquas, 
\ vobis poterant divellere, quo minus omnL 

Se memorem vestri comprobct esse loco. 
Nam crebro dum nutat equus, casumque minatur, 

Condere non versus desiuit ille tamen : 
Carmina quae multis vacuo vix pectore manant, 

Sollicito patrius rite ministrat amor. 
Non ade6 minim si vos ego pectore toto 

Complector, nam non est genuisse nihil. 
Provida conjunxit soboli natura parentem, 

Atque animus nodo colligat llerculeo. 
Inde mihi teneras est ilia indulgentia mentis, 

Vos tarn saope meo sueta fovere sinu. 
Inde est vos ego quod soleo pavisse placenta, 

Mitia cum pulcliris et dare mala piris. 
Inde quod et scrum textis ornare solcbam, 

Qubd nunquam potui vos ego flerc pati. 
Scitis enim quam crebra dedi oscula, verbera rara, 

Flagrum pavonis non nisi cauda fuit, 
Ilanc tamen admovi timideque et molliter ipsain, 

Ne vibex teneras signet amara nates. 
Ah ferus est, dicique pater non ille meretur, 

Qui lacln vmas nati non ileat ipsesui. 
Nescio quid faciant alii, sed vos bene scitis 

Ingenium quam sit molle piumque mihi. 
Semper enim quos progenia vehementer amavi, 

Et facilis (debrt quod pater esse) t'ui. 
At nunc tanta meo moles accrcvit amori, 

Ut mihi jam videor, vos nee amasse prius. 
Hoc faciunt mores puerili a»talc seniles, 

Artibus hoc faciunt pecfora culta bonis : 
Hoc tacit eloquio formats; gratia lingua;, 

Pcnsaque tarn certo singula verba modo. 
Haec men tam miro pertentant pectora 1110(11. 
istringuntque meis nunc ita pignoribus : 


Ut jam quod gcnui, qua; patribus unica mullis 

Causa est, adfectus sit pmpe nulla meL 
Ergo natorum carissima turba meorum, 

Pergite vos vestro conciliarc patri. 
Et quibus effectum est vobis virtutil)iis istud, 

Ut milii jam videar vos nee amasse prius. 
Efficitote (potestis cnim) virtutibus ilsdem, 

Ut postbac videar vos nee amare modd. 


Quum tua dignata est bonitas me viserc nuper, 

Alque humilem, prassul magne, subire casam : 
Interea dum verba seris tarn dulcia mecum, 

Penderem ut vultu totus ab ipse tuo : 
Ecce (quod ah mibi sero mei retulere ministri, 

Nempe ubi tot res est acta diebus) heri 
Matrona ingreditur, cultu spectanda superbo, 

Sed quern forma tamen vicit, et banc probitas : 
Venit in usque tliorum, stetit et mibi tempore longo 

Proxima, contingens et cubito cubitum. 
Inspicit antiqua3 sclecta numismata forma', 

Claraque tarn claris gaudct imaginibus. 
Sumere dignatur tenuis bellarla mensa?, 

Venit et a dulci dulcior ore sapor. 
Nostra nee in tantum vertuntur lumina lumen, 

O niilji plus ipso nate stupore stupor. 
Nunc ignosco mei quod non monuere ministri, 

Tani stupid urn certe nemo putavit herura. 
Oh oculos, longe qui prospexisse solebant, 

Si qua refudissct tale puella jubar. 
An senui ? lorpentque meo mibi corpore sensus ? 

Surgcnti an genius mane sinister erat ? 
Vol. II. Z z 

354 T. MORI 

An tu, ne nisi te quicquam sentire valerem, 

Surpueras lepido me mihi colloquio ? 
Arte lyraque feras in se converterat Orpheus, 

In te mellifluis vertor et ipse sonis. 
Sed tuus intentat magnum lepor iste periclum, 

Neglectam sese ne putet ilia mihi. 
Hospita ne limis quum tarn prope staret, ocellis 

Vidisse, et visam dissimulasse ferar. 
At vel hiulca prius mihi terra dehisceret optem, 

Quam sit in hoc animo tam fera barbaries, 
Ut si quando, leves veluti mihi missa per auras, 

In thalamum penetret Candida nympha meum, 
JVon saltern aspiciam (si plura licere negetur) 

Quaque licet memet candid us insinuem. 
Ut miserum est non posse loqui ? nam cuncta fatetur, 

Qui sermonis inops nulla negare potest. 
Nunc mihi sermonis quia non est copia Galli, 

Quae sola est dominas patria lingua mea?, 
Omnibus absolvar, non excusabimur uni, 

Judice qua, causa statque caditque mea. 
Vulnus ab iEmonia qui quondam pertulit hasta, 

Rursus ab iEmonia est cuspide nactus opcm. 
Dedecus hoc lepidae quoniam peperere fabelke, 

Quum domiiice ct mihi me surripuere tuai : 
Dedecus hoc lepida? debent purgare fabella?, 
Meque mea; domino; concBia«; tiue. 


Hasc mihi dictanti adstabant dira? auribus omnes, 

Et furiffi infernis concita turba vadis. 
Alecto, et sacris caput irretita colubris, 

Tisiphone, et terrens ore Mcgasra truci. 

POEMATA. ^,j5 


Brixius audivit post qua m id rcprehendere multos, 

Quod falsa tantum scriberet. 
Corrigcrc ut possit vitium hoc, aliquid modo visum est, 

Verum quod essct, cdere : 
Quod f'orct indubiiim, quod verum nemo negarct, 

Authore quanquam Brixio. 
Vix repcrit quicquam cui non tamen ipsius omncm 

Eidem elevarct vanitas. 
Ast ubi dispexit, mentemque per omnia torsit 

Deliberabundus diu : 
Unum tandem, omnes una quod voce fatcntur, 

Omni esse vero verius, 
Invenit, et scribil lepidum lepidissimus omnes 

Cingere caput sibi furias. 


Brixius en Germanus babet svlvamque ratemque, 

Dives opum terraj dives opum pelago. 
Utraque vis illi quid praestat scire ? vcbuntur 

In rate stultitia?, sylvam habitant furiae. 



Excussisse, hominumque in ora protulisse. 


Quod versus adco faceres enormiter amplos, 

Quam nemo antiquus, nemo poeta novus : 
Saepe diu mecum nuratus qua>rere coepi, 

Accidit hoc Biixi qua rationc tibi ? 


At landem didici, metiri te tua suetum 

Non nnmcro aut pedibus carraina, sed cubitis. 


Carmina Germani quod in hendecasyllaba lector 

Syllaba conjecta est tenia super decimam, 
Da veniara : baud didicit tantum numerare, ut ab una 

Ordine perveniat rectus ad undecimum. 
Nolo milii numeret stellas, aut aequoris undas, 

Criminave (boc plus est) carminis ipse sui. 
Pergama si numeret quot sunt obsessa per anno;, 

Si potcrit musas dinumerare novem, 
Oc'o pedes cancri, septena vel ostia Nili, 

Fastorumve libros qui tibi Naso majient. 
Si numeret cceli plagas, Phoebivc caballos, 

Trcs numeret furias, ter trious ipse furens. 
Ipse suos (sed ne certem sine p ignore, dura 

Si vincar vinci conditionc volo :) 
Ipse suos oculos (quum sint duo) si numeral it, 

Unum ego tunc patiar pertcrebretis ei. 


MimltUi V*t£, *ni Steventcn, printers, Edinhurgfj, 

i — ri vr t > 



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